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XovcH’s lliiternatioiial Series 


The 

arting of the Ways 


A NOVEL 


M. BETHAM-EDWARDS 


Author of “Next of Kin — Wanted,” “Doctor Jacok.” 


NJtlF YORK 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

150 Worth Street, corner Mission Place 

Every work in this series is published by arrangement with the author 


Issued Semi-Weekly. Annual Subscription, $30.00 April i6, 1890 


BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT WITH THE AUTHORS. 



LOVELLS 

International Series 

OF 

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RECENT ISSUES. 


12. Long Odds. By Hawley Smart 20 

13. On Ciucumstantial Evidence. By Florence Marryat 30 

14. Miss Kate ; or Confessions op a Caretaker. By Kiia 30 

15. A Vagabond Lover. By Rita 20 

16. The Search for Basil Lyndhurst. By Rosa Kouchetto Cuny 30 

17. The Wing OP Azrael. By Mona Caird 30 

18. The Fog Princes. By F. Warden 30 

19. John Herring. By S. Baring Gould 50 

20. The Fatal Phryne. By F. C. Phillips and C. J. Wills 30 

21. Harvest. By John Strange Winter 30 

22. Mehalah. By S. Baring-Gould 50 

23. A Troublesome Girl. By The Duchess 30 

24. Derrick V-vughan, Novelist. By Edna Lyall 30 

25. Sophy Carmine. By John Strange Winter 30 

26. The Luck op the IIouse. By Adeline Sergeant 30 

27. The Pennycomequicks. By S. Baring-Goulu 50 

28. Jezebel’s Friends. By Dora Russell 30 

29. Comedy op a Country House. By Julian Sturgis 30 

30. The Piccadilly Puzzle. By Fergus Hume 30 

31. That Other Woman. By Annie Thomas 30 

32. The Curse op Carne’s Hold. By G. A. Henty.. 30 

33. Uncle Piper op Piper’s Hill. By Tasma 30 

31. A Life Sentence. By Adeline Sergeant 30 

35. Kit Wyndham. By Frank Barrett 30 

36. The Tree op Knowledge. By G. M. Robins 30 

37. Roland Oliver. By Justin McCarthy 30 

38. Sheba. By Rita 30 

39. Sylvia Arden. By Oswald Crawfurd 30 

40. Young Mr. Ainslie’s Courtship. By F. C. Phillips 30 

41. The Haute Noblesse. 'By George Manville Fenn .!.!!! 30 

42. Mount Eden. By Florence Marryat 30 

43. Buttons. By John Strange Winter 30 

44. Nurse Revel’s Mistake. By Florence Warden .! ' *!! 30 

45. Arminell. By S. Baring-Gould . . . . . 50 

46. The Lament op Dives. By Walter Besant 30 

47. Mrs. Bob. By John Strange Winter i 30 


CONTINUED ON THIRD PAGE OF COVER. 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 



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PARTING OF THE WAYS 


A NOVEL 


J 


.\F 


MF BETH AM-EDWARDS 

AUTHOR OF “ NEXT OF KIN — WANTED,’' “ DOCTOR JACOB.’ 



C? > ^ 


* 

NEW YORK 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

150 WORTH ST , COR. MISSION PLACE. 


,£2-7 r 





Copyright^ 1890, 

BY 

J. W. LOVELL CO. 








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THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


* 1 - 

PART I. 

CHAPTER I. 

DREAM-DAUGHTER AND DREAM-FATHER ! 

How much more do we ofttimes seem to know of strangers 
jostled against in a crowd, than of our friends and familiars ! 
These may remain lifelong riddles ; but one face fascinates 
us amid countless multitudes — a single glance of eyes un- 
known, now beheld for a moment only, reveals to us an 
entire character, a complete existence. We hurry on, our 
circle of ideal acquaintances enlarged, richer by another 
romance, none the less vivid because it wants a name. And 
who knows ? As we journey through life, we in our own 
turn may have suggested a similar train of thought. By a 
look, a word, a gesture, we too, for one brief moment, may 
have lifted some sympathetic soul out of the common world, 
have been accredited with gifts and graces that do not belong 
to us. So true it is that the half of life, often the better 
portion of it, appertains to mystery as night to dreams ! 

A young, bright, richly dressed girl, with a withered, 
elderly man, evidently her father, were traversing one end 


1 


2 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


of Europe to the other by express train. It was easy to 
see that this relation existed between them, although wide 
the difference as between one sweet apple-blossom and 
some hoary, corrugated stem upon which it bloomed. 
Equally self-evident the fact that they were all but strangers 
to each other : a marked, exaggerated, almost lover-like 
solicitude, not unmixed with nervousness on the part of the 
father — a timid, appealing tenderness on the part of the 
daughter, showed that they had as yet been very little 
together. An English merchant, he had very likely spent 
the best part of his existence in the East, leaving his 
daughter to be reared and educated at home. Parent 
and child could hardly be less alike as far as expression 
went. 

Her face, so fair, ingenuous, and full of eager inquiry, 
had not the faintest trace of worldliness, much less of 
conscious wrong-doing in it; his wore an occasional look 
almost shocking to the acute observer. Shrewdness carried 
to a pitch of cunning, unscrupulousness that might possibly 
verge on cruelty, indomitable perseverance in the pursuit of 
his own objects, objects certainly neither noble nor worthy 
—such at least must have been the reading of the physi- 
ognomist. 

A certain resemblance was nevertheless there ; hair, eyes, 
complexion bespoke near blood-relationship, all beautified, 
transformed by the girl’s youth, joy, and innocence. 

Meantime, the hard, wrinkled face showed indications of 
real feeling, an almost passionate desire to please this new- 
found darling, this dream-daughter, this fondly cherished 
object of long, absent, laborious years. 

Whenever the train made a halt, he alighted and tried to 
find something to please her— fruit, sweetmeats a book 


DREAM -DAUGHTER AND DREAM -FATHER 


3 


with pictures in it; one might have supposed his amply 
filled purse were only good for such trifles as these. There 
was something touching in the timidity with which he offered 
his gifts. No suitor could have been more deferential, more 
easily elated or discouraged. Was she really gratified or no ? 
He could hardly tell ; the reception was always the same — 
a smile, a bright look of affection and gratitude, accompanied 
the same words : 

‘ You are too good, much too good, papa !’ 

Strange words to fall on ears like his, yet they seemed full 
of music for him. When the maid and the courier, who 
had accompanied the girl from London to Trieste, were not 
present, he would kiss and fondle her in a shy, .awkward way ; 
and his eyes followed her looks and gestures as if to divine 
every thought. He would have been better satisfied had 
she occasionally uttered a wish. Her quiet, passive con- 
tentment disconcerted him. Truth to tell, the girl was in 
much the same frame of mind as himself. He was not more 
anxious to testify his paternal devotion than she her filial 
love. At home, she said to herself, the task would be easy 
enough ; a hundred opportunities must surely occur in a 
day. Shut up within the narrow confines of the railway- 
carriage, there was little to do but smile acquiescence. 

A halting-place brought welcome relief to both. The 
homeward journey from Trieste to London was made by 
way of Venice, Innsbruck, and several attractive German 
cities, at each of which they stopped for a few hours or a 
night’s rest. They had now reached the last, and after a 
stroll and dinner, were to sleep there, proceeding next 
morning to Ostend. 

It was a place worth getting a glimpse of ; one of those 
historic German towns beside a beautiful river, with a sign 

I — 2 


4 


THE PARTING OF THE WA YS. 


here and there, and a sign only, of the olden time — all else 
bright, bustling, airy. The spire of noble minster, a street 
of mediaeval houses, or hoary gateway still remain to tell of 
bygone days, just as in commonplace nineteenth-century 
households some bit of family plate, furniture or jewellery 
indicates ancestry dating from the Crusades. 

Just now, however, the town was travestied and hemmed 
round by a great toy-fair, still so popular an amusement in 
Germany. Between the city and the outer belt of suburban 
gardens and villas was a circle of gingerbread stalls, 
peepshows, and other penny merriments, all abundantly 
patronized by the townsfolk and the peasants. The sight 
diverted the t^o naive travellers, as, followed by obsequious 
courier and maid, they made slow way through the crowd. 

‘ Is there nothing you would like here ?’ asked the father 
again and again to no purpose. 

The Nuremberg gingerbread, the carved woodwork from 
Berchtesgaden, the amber trinkets from Riigen, the orna- 
ments in stag’s horn made at the city itself, the thousand 
and one knickknacks captivating other fair-goers, seemed to 
have no charms for this one, who now beheld them for the 
first time. The girl, young as she was, inexperienced as she 
was — could it be by instinct or by inheritance? — already 
evidently understood the value of money. She examined 
the pretty gewgaws with interest; nothing apparently 
escaped her observation. But it was clear that she did not 
care to spend for spending’s sake. On a sudden, however, 
a cry of genuine enthusiasm did escape her lips, and the 
father’s hand was once more feeling for his purse. At last 
she coveted a fairing — he was to have the pleasure of 
gratifying a wish. He turned round and glanced towards 
his daughter and the nearest booths, but she was stopping. 


DREAM -DAUGHTER AND DREAM-FATHER! 


caressing something for a moment hidden from his view. 
He moved a step or two nearer and saw that, greatly to the 
amusement of the courier and the maid, she was fondling a 
little negro boy ; a prettier live toy it were indeed hard to 
find. The child’s jet-black face, all chubbiness, healthful- 
ness and gaiety, and close-cropped ebon curls, were set off 
by a little coat of rose-coloured satin, gala dress for the 
occasion ; nothing could be prettier, more picturesque than 
his appearance, as, standing before a panorama, he offered 
programmes to the passers-by, receiving, as may well be 
supposed, many a small coin. 

He was perhaps seven years old, and his plump, well-cared 
for appearance showed that, no matter what his origin or his 
history, he had now a home and kindly protectors. 

‘ Is he not a darling, papa ?’ exclaimed the girl, patting 
the little rose-coloured satin coat, pressing sweetmeats into 
the little black hands. ‘ And how intelligent he looks I I 
wonder where he came from !’ 

A curious expression, that she did not see, came over the 
old man’s face. He glanced at the boy for a minute, 
scrutinized him even, much as if he were looking at some 
chattel offered for sale. Then, with the air of one who had 
satisfied himself with regard to the worth of the wares he 
was about to purchase, quick as lightning his purse was 
opened, and his fingers fumbled at the gold pieces. 

‘Would you like to have him ?’ he asked eagerly. ‘To 
take home with you, I mean.’ 

If fortunate for the girl that she did not see her father’s 
face as he made this offer, fortunate also for him that he did 
not see her own as she deprecated it with a gesture almost 
of horror. Her face flushed crimson, painful tears started to 
her eyes as she put the child away ; then trying to recover 


6 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


herself, and to feel that the proposal was natural from one 
accustomed to Eastern life, she simulated playfulness and 
made answer : 

‘ What would be thought of us if we even proposed such 
a thing? No, papa ; when we get back you shall buy me a 
poodle or a cockatoo.* 

With a crestfallen air, conscious apparently of a breach of 
good manners, or of the etiquette of every day, he pocketed 
his purse, and the little party quitted the fair. 

The incident had been noticed by no one, perhaps was 
not worth dwelling on, yet on the girl’s mind it left more 
than a passing cloud. She could not recover her spirits, do 
what she would. The bare suggestion called up by her 
father’s words was dreadful to her, the action of the proffered 
gold appalling ; and with the alertness of a naturally quick 
mind aculeated and quickened by strong sympathies and 
womanly instincts, she immediately accounted for the look, 
the speech, and the deed. But no, daughterly love im- 
mediately did battle with the base supposition ! Her father 
could never for one brief moment have dreamed of barter- 
ing for the child, purchasing a human soul by way of giving 
her a toy. He had been carried away by excessive desire 
to please her. Without her intervention he would, a second 
later, have retracted the offer. 

Thus she endeavoured to reason away her misgivings, 
and to get rid of the disagreeable incident. The table-d'hdte 
dinner, at one of the best hotels in Europe, came by way 
of distraction. It was pleasant to see this cosmopolitan 
board, spread for strangers from all quarters of the globe, at 
which was heard a very Babel of tongues and was seen a 
variety of nationalities, not without a sprinkling of costume. 
The spectacle engrossed and animated. The unaccustorned 


DREAM -DAUGHTER AND DREAM-FATHER ! 


7 


dishes afforded dinner-table talk. The vexatious incident 
of the fair escaped from her memory. When the pair, how- 
ever, retired to the luxurious little sitting-room assigned to 
them, and tea was served, it came back. A fire blazed on 
the hearth. Home-life seemed to have begun already ; if 
not now, when should they begin to know and trust each 
other ? 

Youth is naturally fearless, hence its charm ; and this 
young girl had more than her share of downright impetuous 
initiative and daring. It was easy to see that, in spite of 
a certain superficial timidity, the timidity that belongs to 
little things, she did not in the least stand in awe of her 
unknown father; she was, perhaps, over-anxious to please 
him in trifles ; she was longing to make him happy, as far as 
a daughter’s affection could do so. But all the while she 
belonged to herself ; her life, her individuality were her own 
to do with as she would. She was not moulded out of the 
soft stuff that easily lends itself to another’s shaping. 

‘Papa dear,’ she said, as he put down his newspaper 
and dropped into an arm-chair beside her — ‘ Papa dear, I 
want you to tell me something.’ 

She paused and glanced at him ; his look was very en- 
couraging, and no wonder. Who, indeed, could have 
resisted such an appeal ? 

The autumn was chilly, and she wore a sumptuous pelisse 
of fur-bordered velvet, which, rich as it was, lent no heavi- 
ness to that erect, slender figure. Her bright hair, candid 
blue eyes, and fair complexion tinted with the wild rose of 
health, made up a very impersonation of the lovely Saxon 
maiden. Fairness, grace, and purity here reached their 
acme, and without a trace of sentimentality, much less 
SQhoolgirlish weakness. 


8 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


The father’s eyes sparkled with pride as he returned her 
glance. Here was indeed a daughter worth the toil of a 
lifetime, an heiress to be proud of. Dazzling visions 
flitted before his mind. He saw this beautiful, high-spirited 
girl wedded to some member of a noble house, bearing a 
noble name, mother to be of children lovely and gifted as 
herself. And although a wife, she would remain his daughter 
all the same. He did not wish her to marry a rich man ; 
he wished himself to be the architect of her fortunes, the 
family fortunes. Wealth enough and to spare he had to 
give ; all he asked from a son-in-law was position. 

This reverie was abruptly broken by the words she now 
put to him. 

‘ Papa,’ she said in that sweet yet firm girlish treble, as 
she laid her cheek to his and put one arm lovingly within 
his own — ‘ Papa dear, now tell me. How came you by your 
large fortune?’ 


CHAPTER II. 

THE LURID STREAK. 

The question, natural and harmless as it might seem, was 
hardly uttered than repented of. As the girl looked up into 
her father’s face awaiting an answer, she was startled at his 
changed expression ; the withered cheeks, before colourless 
as vellum, were dyed with scarlet blushes ; a lurid light, as 
of some dark, thinly veiled storm-cloud of passion, flashed 
from his eyes. He rose, and standing with his back to 


THE LURID STREAK. 


9 


the fireplace and the lights, seemed on the point of making 
a sharp rejoinder. But the hasty speech, evidently just 
upon his lips, found no utterance. That beautiful apparition 
of girlishness, affection, and joy checked his angry mood. 
He waited for a moment in order to recover himself. 

‘How do other men come by large fortunes in such 
countries ?’ he asked, affecting a tone of easy banter. ‘ By 
trade, of course.^ 

‘What kind of trade?’ asked Rapha, with quiet persis- 
tence. 

In the first instance she had wished her words unsaid. A 
daughter ought not to put her father to the blush. Might 
not the indiscretion in itself cause his vexation and embar- 
rassment? On the other hand, the more they were to be 
to each other in the future, the greater the confidence that 
should exist between them; and stronger far, much more 
intense than these feelings actuating her with passionate 
fervour, was the desire to think well of him, to have no 
hesitancy about her daughterly love. 

‘What kind?’ answered Mr. Rapham, with a rough 
laugh ; ‘as if a girl could understand ! All kinds, then.’ 

She looked still curious and unconvinced. 

This jesting mood, following an expression of real concern 
and annoyance, made her feel uneasy. Already the convic- 
tion was dawning on her mind, how hard for this dream- 
father to become her friend ! She was beginning to measure 
the gulf that separated them. Whilst she was longing to 
communicate every hope, almost every thought, to this new- 
found protector, at the slightest invitation to a confidence 
from herself he shrank back, refusing to be interrogated 
even by the one being in the world who belonged to him, 
to whom he was dear, his only child. 


10 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


Seeing the look of doubt in her face, and anxious to get 
the disagreeable little scene over, he added, still jestingly : 

‘ Why, you must have learned in the nursery that gold-dust 
and elephants’ tusks come from the heart of Africa.’ 

‘ So you traded in those things ?’ she said wistfully, as 
one rather hoping than expecting to get at the truth, feeling 
all the while that she ought not to doubt her father’s word. 

The statement, moreover, was in accordance with pro- 
babilities. There could hardly be any reasonable ground 
for questioning it, even had she here to do with an entire 
stranger. Yet she was conscious of a lurking uneasiness. 
Separated from him as she had been from early childhood, 
all that concerned his doings remained matter of mystery. 
He had superabundantly supplied her with money, he had 
done his best to have her well cared for and well educated, 
he had written and sent her presents from time to time. 
There the intimacy began and ended. 

‘ In these, and more besides,’ he replied, and again a little 
half-suppressed rasping laugh grated on her ears. Then he 
said sharply and decisively : ‘ The question for you is not 
how my money was made, but how it is to be spent Have 
you thought much about that, my girl ?’ 

He looked at her keenly, as much as to say, ‘Am I 
understood or no ? Must I put it still plainer to you, that I 
cannot be cross-questioned even by my daughter ?’ 

Rapha, with her quick woman’s instinct, understood the 
look but too well. It indicated to her so many delusions to 
come, delusions and conflicts ! She saw in the future in- 
evitable misunderstandings between her father and herself, a 
harshness in him that even his only child might call into 
play. 

But she felt bound to hold her peace. The incident of 


THE LURID STREAK, 


It 


the little rose-coloured satin coat ought not, perhaps, to have 
disturbed her at all. She was fanciful to dwell upon it. 
Yet what could have induced him to propose such a thing 
as the purchase of the child? Under what conditions could 
his past life have been spent, so as to render the bare sug- 
gestion possible ? These were questions she dared no longer 
dwell upon. Her present duty was to try to love her father 
and make his new life happy. As yet they had been only a 
few days together, and his anxiety to please her knew no 
bounds. The least she could do was to make a similar 
effort, and, Heaven help him, he had been lonely enough ! 

‘Look you,^ said Mr. Rapham, now taking a tone of 
almost artful insinuation, ‘ I want you to do exactly as you 
like, and be happy as the day is long, Rapha. But to each 
his own concerns. Your business is to be a great lady, and 
some day or other to make a fine marriage.* 

Again Rapha felt a little shock. Under the rough exterior 
of the trader she might discover the devoted father, the 
acute man of the world ; hardly the educated gentleman, 
much less the sympathetic friend. 

‘ It seems to me that my business is to stay with you, 
papa,’ she said affectionately. She was trying hard to love 
him. 

‘ So you shall, till you are spirited away by a lover. You 
have already had hangers-on, I’ll be bound, although nobody 
knew you to be an heiress.’ 

She smiled and blushed. 

Her dreams and ideals were her own. Could she con- 
fide these to the hard-featured, rough stranger, although he 
was her father ? His speech brought her face to face with 
a new difficulty. Just as she had sought his confidences 
the moment before, so he sought her own now; but she 


12 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


could not summon courage to speak of dreams and ideals 
to-day. 

‘We must get our money’s worth, that is all,’ he said, 
evidently alluding to the suitors to come. Once more he 
scrutinized the sweet, candid face, thinking to himself, ‘ I 
see how it is plain enough. Rapha has her admirations, 
like any other boarding-school miss. Some curate or other 
has been making love to the chit. But a round of gaieties 
will soon put' bread-and-butter courtships out of her head.’ 
He was not quite easy in his mind nevertheless, in his turn 
beginning to foresee difficulties in their future intercourse. 
This fair, high-spirited daughter of his was no pliant creature 
to be bribed into acquiescence, but a strongly marked in- 
dividuality, a will. Tenderness, devotion he felt he could 
count upon ; blind compliance and abnegation of self, never. 
Rapha also was full of misgiving, almost inclined to regret 
the years whilst as yet they had been strangers to each other, 
father and daughter of dreams. In her present mood — • 
perhaps, as she said to herself, to pass on the morrow — 
dreary possibilities already clouded the once radiant future. 
It was as if she gazed upon a sunlit landscape, in itself 
heavenly fair ; but from the distant horizon seemed to issue 
a lurid streak, herald of storm-cloud to break over the sweet 
summer world. 


MR, RAPHAM'S VIEW OF POLITICAL ECONOMY. 13 


CHAPTER III. 

MR. RAPHAM’S view OF POLITICAL ECONOMY. 

• 

Nightmares, however, pass with the darkness that gives 
them birth. Next morning both father and daughter awoke 
to a cheerful aspect of things. There was the going home 
to begin with, the first real home of their lives ; then the 
journey, with its thousand and one little incidents, amused 
these inexperienced travellers. Mr. Rapham, exiled for the 
better part of his existence from European civilization, 
showed as naive an interest in everything as Rapha. Whilst 
the steamer glided gently from Ostend to Dover, he grew 
more and more talkative. What a good thing, he said to 
himself, that this daughter of his had a quick understanding ! 
She saw the gist of a matter at once ; no occasion for 
beating about the bush, or roundabout explanations. There 
would be little difficulties to get over at first ; hardly likely 
that a delicately reared girl of twenty, and a man who had 
been knocking about in semi-savage countries as many years, 
should understand each other to begin with. But she had 
her wits about her ; she was fully alive to the advantages of 
her position ; she would see that it was to her own interest 
to humour him as he intended to humour her. 

‘I will tell you what it is,’ he began, as they settled 
themselves in easy chairs on deck, ‘ we shall do things 
handsomely, of course. I have not come back to England 
to lead a beggarly life ; but we will begin where we mean to 


14 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


leave off — ^we will draw a line. Now there is one thing I 
want you to understand, Rapha : no charities.^ 

She looked rather diverted than shocked, this time. The 
incongruity of her father’s speech tickled her fancy. Al- 
though so young she knew something of the world, and 
the thought at once struck her that it was no more 
possible to repudiate charities in England than rates and 
taxes ! Indeed, just as Mr. Rapham looked down upon 
her from the height of his heterogeneous experiences, so 
in many respects this hard-featured father was a child in 
her eyes. 

‘No charities, I say. What else is the life of a rich man 
who spends his money but one unbroken series of charities ?’ 
continued Rapham, warming to his subject. ‘ Suppose, 
instead of spending a certain sum of money every year upon 
eating and drinking, servants, carriages, and so on, I keep my 
money in my pocket ; suppose nobody else spends as much 
in my place, then it stands to reason there would be so many 
butchers, bakers, flunkeys, and the rest of ’em, wanting 
bread to eat Depend on it, to give away money without 
getting something by way of return is neither common-sense 
nor benevolence.’ 

‘ Spending money on one’s self is an agreeable kind of 
charity,’ Rapha answered, still inclined to treat the disquisi- 
tion as playful. 

‘Don’t you see with your own eyes what charity and 
doing good, so-called, lead to ?’ he continued. ‘ They just 
fill the world with prigs and paupers, and that is all. The 
charitable man sets himself up for a Brummagem saint, and 
the good-for-nothing is well pleased to breed beggars for 
others to maintain. I don’t pretend to be better than I am, 
my dear. I am not going to whitewash myself with two- 


MR. RAPHAM*S VIEW OF POLITICAL ECONOMY. 15 

penny-halfpenny godliness to please the world. My own is 
my own to do with as I choose.' 

Seeing the look of discomposure in her face, he added 
encouragingly : 

‘ But if you like to fool away yours, that is no business of 
mine either. Your allowance the charity-mongers may worm 
out of you for aught I shall interfere. Women must always 
be doing good as they call it, or my belief is they would go 
clean mad.’ 

Could her father be really serious? She hardly knew. 
He went on, evidently anxious that she should know his 
view of things in general. 

‘ Your case, you see, is quite different to my own. A 
young lady’s pin-money, however handsome, does not bring 
about her ears a host of lickspittles, speculators, and philan- 
thropists, who have ever the best of reasons for putting their 
hands into other people’s pockets. I am not going to say 
that I shall refuse a trifle in the parish — subscription for 
Christmas coals, old women’s flannel petticoats, and the like. 
We must keep on good terms with the parson. That is as 
regular a tax on civilization in England as ground-rents and 
water-rates. But you are not a business man; you have 
no idea of the way in which money draws — flies buzzing 
round a treacle-tub are nothing to it.’ 

With quick intuition, Rapha divined what her father was 
going to say next. She had, indeed, seen the drift of his 
discourse almost from the beginning. 

‘ Before I have been at home a week, I shall be pestered 
with these gentry — up to my neck with them — people who 
want me to do this, and the other, for the public good, as 
they call it. Now I should like to know, what is the public 
good to me? Is not every man his own public good? 


i6 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 

One day I shall, be asked to build a church, as if there were 
not churches enough already ; another, to help a man into 
Parliament — much good would that do me either ; then I 
shall be expected to help in emigration schemes, as if it were 
my fault that folks can’t earn their living at home. And so 
on, for ever and ever, amen. I can deal single-handed with 
the whole lot ; I am not such an addlepate as to let others 
make ducks and drakes with the money I have been slaving 
all these years for. But do you, like a girl with a head on 
her shoulders, hold aloof from these schemers. Don’t let 
them think they can get in the thin end of the wedge by 
talking you over. We should be beggared in no time if we 
once began to listen to these busybodies.’ ^ 

‘ Of course I will do as you wish, papa,’ she replied, with 
heightened colour and an ill-concealed look of vexation. To 
all generous causes then, pleaded in her hearing, she must 
turn a deaf ear. All kinds of delightful dreams were dis- 
pelled by her father’s blunt explanation. Already this vast 
fortune ceased to wear its first bright look of enchantment 
She was prohibited for once and for all from wooing life in 
a shower of gold. Nothing further on the subject was said 
at the time, and the next day they arrived home. 

How fortunate for the millionnaire sprung from the ground 
like a grasshopper, no more able to arrange his new mode 
of existence than Sancho Panza to govern an island, that 
the nineteenth-century Ariel — in other words, the universal 
agent — is at his beck and call 1 A man may have only just 
scholarship enough to write his name ; his literary accom- 
plishments may be said to begin and end with the signing 
of a cheque. Provided he can do that to good purpose, the 
rest is easy. Ariel not only sways material things to his 
will ; he moves' the human springs also — provides, as well as 


MR, RAPHAM*S VIEW OP POLITICAL ECONOMY. 17 

the mansion and the mahogany dining-table, guests to ' 
partake of the feast; after making ready the lawn-tennis 
court and the ball-room, supplies beauty and fashion to lend 
the necessary animation. We are even ready to aver that 
your name can be thus magically put down on the best 
visiting-lists of the neighbourhood, and your daughter pre- 
sented at Court. But let us not too closely inquire into 
these mysteries of civilization. Suffice it to acknowledge 
that this most astounding phenomenon in the modern 
world, the agent universal — the modern Ariel — can supply 
mortal man with everything he can possibly stand in need 
of. He has worked in aristocratic England the changes 
brought about in France by the storming of the Bastile. 
Give me my million, and my Ariel to show me how to spend 
it, and though I have sold farthing dips all my days, I shall 
henceforth take my place with the first chop of county 
society ! 

The world, too, is so much more charitable and good- 
natured than we commonly give it credit for, the half of 
humanity so much more ready to take the other half upon 
trust ! Show me the contents of your purse, my good sir ; 
but as to your qualities of head and heart, these are mere 
private matters, for your own concernment only. A man 
and a brother requires but one credential with his new-found 
neighbour — the bank-book, and that, all things considered, 
is about the easiest to be had. 

When Mr. Rapham and his daughter arrived in their 
new home they found everything made ready for them — a 
really fine country-house, several hundred acres of richly 
wooded pleasure-ground, sumptuous furniture, handsome 
equipages, horses to ride and drive, to say nothing of a 
well-trained staff of servants. All things were in spick and 

9 


i8 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 

span order, the finishing-touch given, no fault to be found. 
The only drawback in Rapha’s eyes was the situation. 

Their home was handsomeness itself, and its immediate 
surroundings were beautiful ; but close by might be seen 
downright squalor and unmitigated ugliness. Nothing could 
be prettier than the country, with characteristic scenery, 
characteristic cloudland of the Midlands. All rural England 
seemed here in miniature — park, corn-field and meadow 
making up the landscape. 

The chief town of this pleasant shire, on the contrary, 
was as destitute of beauty as any well could be. How, in 
Heaven’s name, had any place come to be so unsightly ? 

‘You will, of course, do most of your shopping in 
London ?’ Ariel said, half apologetically. ‘ The town is 
not much to boast of, certainly.* 

‘It is well enough,* was the trader’s answer. ‘We are 
not going to live there.* 

‘You see,’ Ariel went on, still apologetic, ‘we are obliged 
to suit our customers in the most important particular, and 
let many minor points go. You wanted, first of all, a good 
house and park. So far, you are exactly suited. Another 
wants a churchy place — plenty of Ritualistic bustle. High 
Church hobnobbing, and so on. I always know where to 
suit him in the nicest of details, too. Then we have clients 
in the picturesque way. The Lakes are the very thing 
for them. But I am sorry the town is not more to 
look at.* 

‘We need not look at it,* was the laconic reply. 

Rapha, however, was not so easily reconciled to the 
dismal aspect of the place. 

It lay in a hollow to begin with, and, excepting in the 
lightest and brightest time of the year, a depressing mist 


MR, RAPHAM’S VIEW OF POLITICAL ECONOMY. 19 

hung over it from end to end. There was no attractiveness 
or variety about its streets, formal lines of small red houses 
or gloomy warehouses; hardly a flower in a window here 
and there, to relieve the monotony. A few dwellings of the 
better order, with well-kept gardens, stood on the out- 
skirts; these only made the melancholy hideousness but 
more apparent. The fine old parish church, too, was far 
from the centre of the town, as if the builders thought that 
a little sunshine and greenery might tempt the people to 
worship. What a contrast to these dreary, monotonous 
streets was the home of the millionnaire ! About the house 
itself there was little enough either to particularize or 
describe ; alike within and without, so much outlay was 
apparent ; a conventional standard of comfort and elegance, 
nothing more. Yet by force of contrast, every feature 
became emphasized and exaggerated, On the one hand, 
sordidness and toil; on the other, lavish wealth and the 
leisure to enjoy it. 

The townsfolk could get more than a distant view of 
Mr. Rapham’s splendour, a right of way from time im- 
memorial permitting pedestrians to cross the park at an 
angle. That little traverse, with its slight-looking yet firm 
guarantee against the intruder, might be taken as an 
emblem of the work-a-day world in these parts. Occasional 
glimpses of beauty out of doors, stolen perceptions of 
brightness within, such was the portion of most, the 
remainder of life being surrendered to penury and un- 
loveliness. 


2 — 2 


20 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


CHAPTER IV. 

‘and one other!' 

Had Mr. Rapham come hither in the guise of the angel 
Gabriel, goodness immaculate written on his front, divine 
pity and love of mankind irradiating his whole being, words 
of fellowship dropping honey-sweet from his lips, he could 
not have been more thrillingly welcomed. 

The wealth of the gold-dust and ivory merchant was 
sufficiently indicated by his purchase of such a property as 
Strawton Park. Scant need have we to inquire into the cir- 
cumstances of a man who can buy a place fit for a prince, 
and set up horses and carriages compatible with any fortune. 
Then the furniture, the household staff, the green-houses : 
these things were all of apiece, and spoke for themselves. 
It was evident that here at least was an individual who 
must have more money than he well knew what to do with, 
who would not only be willing but thankful to put out 
some of his superfluous cash at good interest. Nothing 
could be more opportune for the community at large than 
such an arrival 

The town of Strawton was just now in one of those 
positions which seem the inevitable result of civilization. 
It was for the time being the victim of over-production. A 
very wave of ruin had swept over it, and nobody could give 
any better explanation of the crisis than that the warehouses 
were full, instead of being empty. As certain painters over- 


•AND ONE OTHER r 


21 


Stock the picture - market, and have numerous canvases 
thrown back upon their hands, so the manufacturers here 
had produced more goods than they could possibly get rid 
of. Money not coming in, hands must be reduced to a 
minimum, claims allowed to accumulate, new enterprises be 
given up, business stand still. In fact, the aspect of affairs 
for months past had been desperate. 

The unfortunate heads of factories were in the position of 
soldiers called into action, who every moment see some 
comrade drop by their side. Hardly a week, a day, but 
their ranks were thinned by bankruptcy : and each, as he 
glanced ruefully at his fellow, said to himself, ‘ Whose turn 
will it be to fall next, yours or mine 

But the general feeling was one of hopefulness, all the same. 
Just as the destitute artisan who pawns his Sunday coat on 
the Monday morning, hoping rather than believing that he 
shall be able to redeem it for the next chapel-going, so 
these business men, one and all, would not give up the 
game. Things must mend. It was all nonsense to say 
that they would go on in this way for ever. A little spirit, a 
little capital, and not a house in the place, large or small, 
but could tide over the evil day. 

When, therefore, Mr. Rapham made his appearance, no 
one put the thought into words, but everyone fondly 
believed that, in his especial case, good might come of it. 
The poor, large numbers of whom here, as elsewhere, barely 
contrived to get their bread out of weekly wages, the thin 
scraping of butter being invariably matter of charity, did 
not more confidently count on extra meat-tickets from the 
rich man, than these anxious, often apparently well-to-do 
merchants upon his financial aid. How this aid was to be 
got at, in what way the affair was to be contrived, remained 


22 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


as yet dark. Nobody as yet knew how the new-comer would 
be received, or the social position he would choose for him- 
self. Recognition from the neighbouring gentry he was 
pretty sure of — few nowadays can afford to ignore a million- 
naire ; but being accustomed to business and business men, 
might not the rich trader prefer the society of the wealthier 
manufacturers and leading residents of the town? On 
account of his young daughter he could but welcome the 
best society to be had ; for himself he must want a little 
stir and bustle, a fillip to daily life in the shape of specu- 
lation. 

With regard to Rapha, conjecture was equally busy. 
This young lady, heiress to a splendid fortune, had her 
part to choose also. Each section of Strawton society was 
already dying to have her : the clerical, the philanthropical, 
the aesthetic, the showy. Which was to be lucky enough to 
carry off the prize ? 

Rapha herself, happily unconscious of all these sur- 
misings, was thinking not at all of the outer world, but of 
her father, herself, and one other ! She received such 
visitors as found her at home with girlish interest and 
graciousness ; she looked over the visiting-cards left in her 
absence with naive interest. To the gratification of many 
and the astonishment of some, she returned these calls, one 
and all, with equal promptitude and cordiality, thus dis- 
claiming any intention to be exclusive. Having done this, 
and having promised her father to turn her mind to social 
entertainments by-and-by, she might have been in the heart 
of Africa, as far as Strawton society was concerned. Her 
mind, her heart, her daily life were too full of other things. 
That one other, that friend ! Of course she knew he would 
be among the first to welcome her to her new home, and 


•AND ONE OTHER r 


23 


to seek her father’s acquaintance. She had felt all along 
that it must be so. Although far away, he would come. 
Why then this quick beating of the heart, this over-joy as at 
some great surprise, when she received a little note from him, 
announcing his coming? It was one of those apparently 
careless little notes that any well-bred man may write to a 
lady with whom he is fairly acquainted. 

‘ Dear Miss Rapham, 

‘ On my way here from the north, I learn of your 
father’s arrival and your installation at Strawton Park. Pray 
allow me to call and welcome you to your new home, also 
to give you news of common friends. 

‘Yours sincerely, 

‘ Gerald Silverthorn.’ 

‘ Who is this fellow, this Silverthorn ?’ asked Mr. Rapham, 
conning the missive, eye-glass in hand. 

‘ One of the lecturers I wrote to you of, and a frequent 
visitor at Professor Upton’s whilst I stayed in his house,’ 
Rapha replied. ‘Don’t you remember, papa, you let me 
go to London last year for the sake of attending some 
lectures ?’ 

‘He wants to get something out of us, depend on it,’ 
growled the trader. ‘Either to make love to you, or to 
borrow money of me. However, as these people — the 
Uptons, I mean — were very kind to you, and took you in 
cheap, I suppose we must be civil to him. Well, I am off 
to London to buy a sulky ; you do as you please.’ 

Mr.- Rapham had quitted the room, when he suddenly 
came back. 

‘ I say, Rapha^ wh^t is the good of having a carriage 


24 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


if it is not used? Just drive somewhere— oblige me by 
driving somewhere. I cannot keep horses and carriages 
for nothing.* 

Rapha promised to drive somewhere ; and then he went 
away, leaving her to her dreams. She smiled at her father’s 
notion of buying a sulky, and again at the incubus his horses 
and carriages were already to him ; most of all she smiled 
at his interpretation of Gerald Silverthorn’s visit. After all, 
there was some truth in it. He was most probably coming 
to make love to her, and very likely wanted much more 
money than he possessed. Men of science who give their 
minds to speculation always do. All these thoughts caused 
her some inner merriment ; her father's way of looking at 
everything was so diametrically opposed to her own. By 
force of this contrast, a dozen incidents a day wore a 
humorous aspect, which he failed to perceive. 

But there was the business of driving somewhere. She 
would get that over at once, in order to be free for the rest 
of the day. Here, also, her sense of humour came into 
play. Was there not something preposterous in the notion 
of having to drive so many miles a day, just because you 
happen to have horses in the stable ? With all its draw- 
backs, however, there is this advantage about keeping a 
vehicle, from a family coach to a wheelbarrow — it will carry 
our parcels for us. Rapha, being ever a young lady of many 
parcels, decided to carry to-day’s accumulation to Strawton, 
making a long round thither, but returning straight home. 
She would thus most likely overtake the Professor on his 
way, and that would save him a stretch of muddy road. So 
she exchanged one set of packages for another, despatched 
her books to Mudie’s, left her unbound music at the binder’s, 
selected various articles of feminine merchandise here^. 


•AND ONE OTHER r 


^5 


deposited invalid doles there, and was just outside the town 
when she recognised him. 

That gaily swung stick, that careless dress, that airy gait, 
could belong to no other but her grown-up playfellow, 
comrade, fellow-student, friend, teacher — for he was all 
these. 

She signalled to the coachman, and the shining equipage 
pulled up beside the somewhat astonished pedestrian. 
She called him by name, smilingly, and made room 
for him beside her; but there he stood, speechless and 
agape. 

* Can I believe my own eyes ?’ he said at last 

Rapha laughed merrily then, for she divined exactly what 
was in his mind. 

They had known each other intimately ; now for the first 
time she saw him under wholly new conditions. This landau, 
these prancing horses, those obsequious lackeys, must 
strike him with a sense of incongruousness ! Dozens and 
dozens of times they had returned with other students from 
the lecture by omnibus, aye, after many a refection of buns 
and tea in cook-shops 1 

‘ Do, please, get in,’ Rapha said. 

* With these muddy boots ? No,’ he said teasingly ; ‘ and 
you cannot get out, either, to walk in silk stockings and 
satin shoes. So we had better bid the horses be patient, 
and carry on a conversation remaining stockstill where 
we are.’ 

‘ Nonsense !’ Rapha exclaimed, still with her hand on 
the open door of the carriage. ‘It is a very long walk 
home. If I leave you here, you will not arrive till all the 
luncheon is eaten up.’ 

The Professor did consent to take a seat then. He had. 


26 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


indeed, been walking about since an early breakfast, and 
was hungry. 

‘ How do you like being a fine lady ?’ he began, as they 
drove on ; ‘ or, rather, how shall you like it, think you, for 
you can hardly know the feeling yet ?’ 

‘ Oh !’ cried Rapha, ‘ I shall never be in the least bit a 
genuine fine lady ; only a little on the outside, to please 
papa.’ 

‘ And how do you get on with papa ?’ asked Silverthorn, 
kind, but irreverent. 

‘ He is kindness itself,’ Rapha answered, with the evident 
intention to say no more on that subject. 

‘ Well, he has set you up handsomely in the matter of a 
trap, horseflesh, and Jeamses,’ he went on. ‘ Only to match 
them, and be able to comport yourself becomingly, you 
should wear a front, be seventy at least, weigh fifteen stone, 
and have a poodle under each arm. As it is, you are 
an anomaly of the first water — a preposterous incongruity !’ 

‘ You will say the same of the house,’ Rapha said. ‘ Such 
a houseful of servants, too; and only two people to be 
waited on !* 

‘You have only each of you to give as much trouble as 
half a dozen,’ laughed the Professor. ‘ Ring the bell twenty 
times in a quarter of an hour, have an elegant little repast 
served up ten times a day, then — but no ! on my word 
now, do you mean to tell me you really live here?’ 

This expression of surprise was elicited by the opening of 
the lodge-gates, and the first glimpse of Strawton Park amid 
the trees. 


A DEPARTURE IN HOUSEKEEPING. 


27 


CHPPTER V. 

A DEPARTURE IN HOUSEKEEPING. 

The gay, boyish Professor, whose ebullient spirits, irre- 
pressible mirth and light-hearted ways might have made 
him pass muster for a Frenchman, was in reality a hard- 
working, speculative man of science, already verging on 
middle life. Youthful as he seemed, he was approaching 
his thirty-fifth year, and for the last twenty years of his life 
had worked harder than most men. He possessed, how- 
ever, that enviable gift of always feeling young, which is 
almost the same thing as never growing old. His pursuits 
led him into some of the more recondite and painful paths 
of science ; his bread mainly depended on the salary of pro- 
fessor, yet he appeared as young, careless and playful as the 
bright, untried girl of twenty who was his dearest friend. 
Nor did he in their intercourse show one side only of his 
character — the trivial, the commonplace — to her; he did 
not confine his more serious self to the study or the class- 
room, keeping a holiday self for the boudoir. His friend 
must be his friend indeed ; he had chosen one who coula 
sympathize with him, and was morally, if not intellectually, 
on his own level. Rapha certainly was ignorant of vast 
numbers of facts he had at his fingers’ ends, but if mere 
knowledge of facts in itself constitutes mental superiority, 
who can call himself wiser than his neighbour ? A ship’s 
cook in one sense is a better man than a senior wrangler, 
and a pointsman could teach Bismarck himself something. 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 




What a merry, merry meal they had ! 

How good it was to recall those happy student-days ! 
She had, indeed, been his pupil, but upon other occasions 
they had sat side by side below the professorial chair, 
listening, learning together. 

‘I must make one remark,* said Silverthorn, with a 
sudden air of great gravity. 

Rapha looked up, expecting some scientific enunciation 
or moral aphorism. The Professor merely transferred some- 
thing from the dish nearest to him to his own plate, 
adding : 

‘ I wish I had as good a lunch as this every day.* 

Rapha smiled, and next moment blushed. 

Was he inwardly blaming all this display, calling it 
materialism ? 

‘ It seems so much easier to provide good things than to 
feel hungry enough to eat them,* she said regretfully. ‘ Poor 
papa’s want of appetite is really distressing; that is why 
he has just bought a pleasure-farm and a sulky. He says 
if he does not occupy himself out of doors a good deal, 
he shall never be able to get beyond mutton-chops and 
gruel.* 

‘ True Gospel charity that,* laughed Silverthorn, *to keep 
a man-cook for the delectation of your friends, and eat only 
gruel yourself. I compliment you on your cuisine, although 
I could do so with better grace had you so much as cooked 
the potatoes. I suppose you have mounted so many rungs 
of the social ladder that you are now too lofty a personage 
to order your meals, much less cook them.* 

Again Rapha showed signs of vexation. Her friend’s 
raillery jarred. 

‘Papa has the housekeeping carried on according to a 


A DEPARTURE IN HOUSEKEEPING, 


29 


new system ; I have really nothing whatever to do with it,’ 
she replied. 

‘ But seriously ’ — here he moved sideways from the table, 
and laying his napkin across his knee, confronted her with 
kind, even affectionate insinuation — ‘ seriously, I do honestly 
hope that you will be happy here ; I came here to-day on 
purpose to say so.’ 

‘ I ought to be happy,’ she replied, looking down. She 
would not let him read any misgivings. 

* I know nothing of the place or the people,’ he went on. 
‘ In summer it should be pleasant enough, and I dare say 
we could find rare flowers if we looked for them. Among 
your neighbours, too, you are sure to find some to your 
mind. But don’t forget old ways and old friends.’ 

‘ As if I should do that !’ 

*We hardly know what we shall do when we are suddenly 
made to walk on our heads.’ Ever shy in the matter of per- 
sonalities, he went on rather abruptly : * I have been think- 
ing of something that would be very pleasant for both of us. 
Suppose — suppose now ’ 

In the midst of this confidential talk there was a tramping 
of heavy boots in the hall, and Mr. Rapham entered. No 
greater contrast to his visitor could be presented. This 
small spare man with keen eyes and complexion the colour 
of parchment, in form neatness and compactness itself, 
might have been fifty or an octogenarian; at ninety, he 
could hardly look any older, and the question arose in the 
mind of the observer, had he ever looked really young? 
Physiognomy, gait, gestures, were all those of one whose 
energies had been bent upon a single object, and whose past 
experiences were at variance with his present life. This 
sense of contrast gave him a kind of restless uneasiness. He 


30 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


seemed perpetually on the look-out, as if to make quite sure 
he were not transgressing in minor matters. The educated 
Londoner, on the contrary, although not lofty of stature, 
looked large by comparison, and was the very personifica- 
tion of that easy collectedness due to constant attrition 
with the world. Perfectly natural, ever letting his boyish 
animation have full play, he yet remained strictly within 
the limits of good taste and good breeding, and this comes, 
too, of the habit as well as character, depending much on 
daily intercourse with the polished and the amiable. 

‘ Pray be seated, sir — glad to see you,’ was the host’s curt 
salutation. 

Rapha introduced the pair. Then Mr. Rapham said : 

‘If you have lunched, Rapha, I wish you would come 
with Mr. Silverthorn to look at my sulky. I had it put on 
the train, and here it is.’ 

‘ Will you not first eat something, papa ?’ 

‘ Why should I eat, child, just because food happens to 
stand on the table ? I’ll take a crust of bread and drop of 
wine to please you. I hope my daughter has given you 
all that you wish for, sir?’ he said, turning to his visitor 
with old-fashioned hospitality. 

* Can human wishes soar beyond a Perigord pie ?’ Silver- 
thorn replied laughingly, glancing at the table. 

Mr. Rapham said, glancing in the same direction : 

‘ I am no authority in such matters. That is why I have 
set up housekeeping on the new system.* 

‘ And what is that ?’ 

‘You a Cockney, and ask me such a question ? Well, I 
will soon enlighten you,’ added Mr. Rapham, drawing a chair 
to the table, and helping himself gingerly to a* morsel of the 
Perigord pie. ‘ A mighty convenient system it is, I assure 


A DEPARTVRE IN HOUSEKEEPING^ 


31 


you. Only fancy, this day twelve months, and that without 
the least trouble to myself, I can tell exactly what meal you 
partook of here, and what it cost to a farthing 1* 

‘ Papa dear !’ remonstrated Rapha. 

*I see nothing to be ashamed of,* laughed the trader. 
‘ But let me explain to your friend how the thing is worked. 
Well, here am I, and I’ll be bound there are scores in my 
plight — men come back to the old country to spend their 
money — no more able to hold my own with butchers, and 
bakers, and cooks, and butlers than the man in the moon. 
I’ve got the money — that is all. Now, I go to a house like 
Allchere’s. Allchere is one of the great agents, you know ; 
and he just puts my establishment in order, and keeps it 
wound up like a clock.* 

‘ Very convenient, I am sure,* said the Professor. 

‘It is more than convenient — it is confoundedly eco- 
nomical,* Mr. Rapham said, growing quite enthusiastic. ‘ I 
have, then, to begin with, no trouble with my establishment 
whatever, beyond the fact of paying for it. Everything is 
done by contract. A competent man comes down once a 
week to see that all is going on well ; and if there is a hitch, 
I have only to complain to headquarters. The matter is 
rectified at once. And mark the saving ! I have nothing 
to do with feeding a number of dainty, wasteful servants. 
They receive board wages, and my own table is strictly 
under control. Every item of expenditure is jotted down 
in the day-book ; so that, as I said just now, by referring to 
it a year hence, I can find out what company I had this 
very day, and what was the cost. There is a tariff for 
everything.* 

‘ And, as far as your experience goes, does the plan work 
well?* 


32 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


‘Admirably. Just think now! What could I do — what 
could an inexperienced girl like Rapha do with a concern 
like this ? There would be cheating, high-flying, and 
pilfering everywhere. We should be half ruined in no time. 
As it is, one round sum covers everything — absolutely 
everything. I have my agent to pay, and nobody else.^ 

‘ Provided the agent is up to the mark, the existence of 
people who keep twenty servants may henceforth become 
endurable,* said the Professor. 

‘ Oh I I’ve a hold on him, the rascal ! I look into his 
items, of course,’ chuckled the trader ; ‘ and not only that, 
every quarter his bill goes to my accountant. Besides, the 
proof of the pudding is in the eating. I assure you, this 
Allchere does a rattling trade. He has — that I can vouch 
for — half a dozen establishments on this side of London 
alone ; but his best custom is in the manufacturing districts, 
he tells me.* 

‘ And miscellaneous indulgences and commodities — 
lessons on the violin, a new set of teeth, vaccination — can 
these wants be similarly provided for ?’ 

‘Without the slightest difficulty. In fact, Allchere has 
promised to find me a yacht and crew next summer ; and 
when we give a ball, as we intend to do at Christmas, he 
contracts not only for the decorations, band, and supper, but 
for a certain number of dancers if our supply falls short* 

‘ You are surely joking now, papa I* 

‘ I will eat my head if I am,’ retorted Mr. Rapham. ‘And 
not only young ladies and gentlemen are despatched to 
country-houses to help in a jig — when folks like myself give 
dinner-parties they send down a professional talker to make 
the thing go off.’ 


' Rapha 


r.-.'ob 


at Silverthorn. Would his overweening 


A DEPARTURE IN HOUSEKEEPING. 


33 


love of fun be able to withstand this ? But the Professor 
looked gravity itself. Like his informant, he took the 
matter in all seriousness. . 

‘ For instance, our first dinner-party is fixed for the third 
of November, isn’t it, Rapha ? Well, Allchere furnishes the 
conversation ; and all I have to pay for a first-rate man in 
that line is ten guineas, and a trifle for boots.’ 

Rapha laughed merrily ; but Silverthorn asked, in the 
most matter-of-fact way : 

‘ Does the secret of a fluent tongue lie in any especial 
shoe-leather? If so, I would indulge in a similar pair, 
without loss of time, and regardless of expense.’ 

* You see,’ Mr. Rapham continued, ‘ a man who sits down 
with fine folks must be well dressed. One client is charged 
something for his pumps ; another for his swallow-tails ; a 
third for his silk waistcoat, and so on. But just think what 
a relief it is to be able to count upon such a person ! I 
can’t converse myself — can’t pretend to. We hardly know 
the names of the people we have invited. Most of ’em, I’ll 
warrant, are as dull as ditch-water. Allchere guarantees that 
the dinner shall be lively from the first moment to the 
last’ 

‘ I wish amateur talkers could aspire to such proficiency,’ 
Silverthorn said. 

‘ It’s custom that does it,’ Mr. Rapham went on. ‘ You 
can bring people to anything by daily habit Well, as I see 
you have both finished, take a turn with me in the drawing 
room and the library. I should like to hear what you think 
of the pictures and books.’ 

He marshalled them first to the well-appointed, spacious 
library, and, pointing to the shelves, added : 

‘ I gave a thousand pounds for the lot I doubt if all 

3 


34 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


the books ever written are worth half the money. But 
one must have something of the kind nowadays for appear- 
ance* sake.* 

Silverthorn took up a neatly printed, elegantly bound 
catalogue, and, making the round of the room, verified 
entries and examined volumes here and there. Yes, all was 
above-board, bona fide, beyond suspicion. Authors, editions, 
bindings, of first-rate quality. 

Mr. Rapham seemed much pleased with the nature of his 
visitor’s verdict. 

‘ Then there are the pictures,* he went on, passing into 
the sumptuously furnished drawing-room. ‘ I can only judge 
of the frames, which are certainly worth looking at. Rapha 
says they are all right. Tell me what you think.* 

The critic glanced at canvas after canvas approvingly. 
Here, too, he could find absolutely no fault. The Allchere 
system came out in no unfavourable light when on artistic 
ground — that is to say, the pictures were marketable, worth 
a good deal of money. 

‘ These men seem to know what they are about,* was his 
brief commentary. 

‘ It is to their interest to do the thing in first-rate style 
when they have the chance. My house is such an advertise- 
ment for them, you see,’ the host replied, feeling more and 
more satisfied with his bargain. ‘ And now let us have a 
look at something I have chosen for myself. Come and see 
my sulky.* 


LAUGHTER AKIN TO TEARS, 


35 


CHAPTER VI. 

LAUGHTER AKIN TO TEARS. 

‘ So that is a sulky ! What could have induced you to buy 
such a thing, papa ?’ cried Rapha. ‘ You must always drive 
in it alone.’ 

‘ What else was a sulky invented for ?’ Mr. Rapham said, 
surveying his new purchase with growing admiration. The 
contents of his library, the pictures on his walls, said 
nothing to him ; the sulky, on the contrary, seemed full of 
delightful suggestions. His eyes brightened; his entire 
physiognomy grew radiant as he gazed and e^xpatiated. 

‘ Now I should like to know,’ he went on, addressing him- 
self chiefly to Silverthorn, ‘ I should like to know if anything 
was ever invented more useful than that ?’ 

‘ A horse would say so if he could speak, without doubt,’ 
replied Silverthorn, still gravity itself. His merriment at the 
strange ways of Rapha’s father was checked by a pathetic 
feeling. Had Mr. Rapham been a stranger, he could not 
have resisted a hearty laugh then and there. But the fact 
that he belonged to her made his personality almost a sacred 
one in his eyes. Diversion seemed untimely and almost 
cruel. The only way to avoid giving Rapha pain, was to 
take everything as seriously as Mr. Rapham himself. 

‘ Its lightness is to be taken into account, certainly,’ the 
other went on ; ‘ but I was not thinking of that just then. 
There are other traps that hardly weigh more. The first 

3—2 


3 ^ 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


advantage of a sulky is that it precludes the possibility of 
taking anyone up. Now, if there is one thing I object to 
#vhen I drive out, it is to be asked for a lift.’ 

‘Highwaymen have certainly robbed and murdered in 
return for such accommodation,’ said Silverthorn. 

‘ Talk of cut-throats and pickpockets ! I would much 
sooner a man made for my windpipe or my purse than my 
secrets,’ laughed Mr. Rapham. ‘ Depend on it, when a 
fellow asks to let him get up with you, it is to find out what 
you are about.’ 

‘ There is a good deal of truth in that, too,’ Silverthorn 
said. He. did not wish to be acquiescent for acquiescence’ 
sake; but his host’s way of putting things was hardly 
controvertible. 

‘ And another thing — a sulky speaks for itself. Drive a 
sulky, and never fear that folks will come pestering you for 
money. They know you are a close-fisted chap before you 
open your mouth. Of course, it isn’t all pleasure to be rich. 
People’s mouths are watering for my money in these parts 
already ; that I can vouch for. When they see me in my 
sulky, they will understand I am not their man, and I shall 
be left in peace.’ 

‘An agreeable method of shaking off the importunate,’ 
laughed the Professor. ‘ Being a poor man, however, I can 
indulge in a more sociable vehicle.’ 

‘ And nothing so good for business as a sulky,’ added Mr. 
Rapham. ‘ Why do so many go to the dogs, or end their 
days no richer than they began ? Just because they are not 
close enough. Mark my word, sir, if you -wish to get on, to 
make money, be close. Button up your coat. Let no one 
know what you are thinking of. It is a nice little trap, 
isn’t it ?’ 


LAUGHTER AKIN TO TEARS. 


37 


‘ Charming, my only objection being that it is not a gig,’ 
replied Silverthorn. ‘ At the same time, I see the force of 
your arguments.’ 

‘ Would you like to look at the stables ?’ asked Mr. 
Rapham. 

‘ Immensely,’ was the reply, although Silverthorn knew as 
much about horseflesh as his host did of art. 

For Rapha’s sake he wished to reciprocate her father’s 
cordiality. He flattered himself, too, that he had created a 
favourable impression. 

‘Well, now for a turn in my new sulky,’ said his host, 
after a round out of doors. ‘ But pray, if it suits you, Mr. 
Silverthorn, stay to dinner. We have not half work enough 
for the servants, and, you see, whether we have twenty folks 
to dine, or sit down by ourselves, they are paid all the same. 
Besides, you can, I dare say, give Rapha some hints as to 
the proper people to be civil to hereabouts.’ ' 

The offer was gratefully accepted, and after watching 
Mr. Rapham drive off in his sulky, Rapha and her visitor 
returned to the drawing-room. 

‘ Is there nothing I can do for you ?’ he asked ; ‘ hang 
pictures, arrange china, paint a wainscot — all these things, 
you know, are in my way.’ 

She made no reply, and he saw that, as her glance- 
followed her father from a distance, her eyes filled with 
tears. He understood all — the disenchantment of a generous 
nature amid such scenes, the emptiness of this splendour, 
the want of heart, reality, inspiration, that she felt in her 
new life. 

Silverthorn was one of those men who can fall in love, 
remain perpetually in love, but are quite unable to make 
love. He could be all kindness and devotion to a woman ; 


38 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


he was wholly at a loss t6 put these feelings into words 
Hardly any other circumstances, for instance, could have 
made him really shy and awkward as he was now. Out 
came his words of protectiveness and comfort, blunt as a 
schoolboy’s. 

‘ Don’t lose heart, dear. Don’t be downcast,’ he said, his 
own eyes moistening as he spoke. ‘ Your father will never 
let you marry me, I see that well enough. But I promise 
you I will never inarry anyone else.’ 

There was something serio-comic in the speech — a medley 
of philosophy, sentiment, and honest passion ; all the more 
was Rapha touched by it because she knew his character so 
well. Hitherto delicacy had restrained him from speaking 
out. As a man of honour, he felt bound to be silent during 
her father’s absence. Now that Mr. Rapham was in 
England, silence ceased to be obligatory. Words might 
avail nothing, yet, for her own sake as well as his, he must 
speak. 

Sad as she was at heart, she smiled then. His secret had 
been hers long ago ; none the less did this openness comfort 
her in her hour of disillusion, almost of despair. Silver- 
thorn was her dearest friend. They seemed to understand 
each other’s thoughts without a word ; but this kind — this 
too kind father of hers, could she ever love him as a daughter 
should ? Would not Silverthorn’s devotion — everything else 
she most valued, help to divide her from him, and make 
them more like strangers to each other ? 

‘We won’t use the word “never,”’ he went on, blunt, 
boyish, encouraging as before. ‘ Who knows what may or 

may not happen ’ He looked at her shyly, penetratingly, 

moved a step forward as if to venture upon a lover-like kiss, 
suddenly drew back, red as a poppy, and blurted out the 


LAUGHTER AKIN TO TEARS. 


39 


rest of his sentence : ‘ That is to say, if you care so much as 
a couple of straws for me.’ 

Perhaps the naivest love-making most nearly approaches 
the irresistible, but Rapha was not in the mood for maidenly 
yea or nay, much less explanations, just then. Silverthorn 
could not venture to exact a promise — how could she give 
any ? And both were agitated, overjoyed, distracted. For 
the moment the sense of nearness to each other, of entire 
understanding, no matter what circumstances might arise, 
sufficed. 

She merely wiped away her tears, cast a long, resigned 
glance at her spick-and-span, costly surroundings, and an- 
swered, smiling ruefully : 

‘ I wish I could care a couple of straws for all this — foi 
the luxury papa has given me.’ 

‘After all, a trifle too much of outside show, a touch of 
vulgarity even, in life does no real harm — many other things 
are so much worse,’ the comforter went on. ‘You will soon 
take this display as a matter of course, and find that it is 
as well to be rich as not. This I am sure of — your father 
adores you.’ 

‘ Poor papa !’ sighed Rapha. 

‘ Let him be happy in his own way ; you cannot expect a 
man who has been buying and selling for the best part of 
his life to settle down a finished aesthete — a bandbox 
Ruskin ! But now, why should we not be doing something? 
Suppose you show me your room — the room I am to advise 
you about’ 

The proposal was joyfully welcomed, and in a few minutes 
both were highly busy. Rapha’s boudoir had been in the 
first instance furnished by contract, like the rest ; she con- 
trived, however, to find room for the elegant but character- 


40 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


less furniture and fittings-up elsewhere, replacing them with 
the artless souvenirs of her girlhood. Here was the little 
piano, for which Silverthorn had painted her a panel as a 
birthday present, the bookcase, plainness itself in the eyes 
of a professional decorator, which held the books she had 
read into shabbiness ; the old-fashioned mahogany work- 
table that had belonged to her unknown mother ; the insig- 
nificant yet, to her affectionate nature, priceless gifts of 
schoolfellows and friends; the quaint Oriental treasures 
her father had sent her from time to time. Simple although 
these surroundings, they were in her eyes more precious 
than anything else the house contained. Each object re- 
called what money could not buy : hopes, dreams, affections, 
the whole making up an epitome of her young life, a 
calendar to be conned over lovingly and alone. 

‘ The room is very pretty in itself. You can do so much 
with a carol-window,’ Silverthorn said. * But the cornices 
and brackets savour somewhat of high art by contract.’ 

‘ They shall come down. I will ring for the steps,’ Rapha 
replied, touching the bell. 

‘ Then the curtains, and the carpet ; the colour is well 
enough, but the patterns are too geometrical. Do let us 
choose something better together when next you are in 
London. Brown and gold, bumble-bee colours, sunflower 
colours, nothing prettier in the world. That is what we will 
have.’ 

The steps were brought; Silverthorn was busy taking 
down a bracket, Rapha holding hammer and nails, when 
a visitor was announced. 

‘ Mr. Morrow !’ Rapha said, glancing at the card. ‘ Yes, 
show him up. He is the only person here I have seen as 
yet that I take the faintest interest in,’ she added. 


MR, MORROW, 


41 


^ I wish I had come into the world with that man’s name,’ 
Silverthorn said. ‘ Certain names are a fortune in themselves, 
despite the saying of the great Shakespeare to the contrary. 
Think, for instance, of being handicapped with such a 
cognomen as Timmins, or worse still. Toppins; enough to 

drive anyone into suicide. Now ’ 

But his speech was cut short by the entrance of Rapha’s 
visitor. 


CHAPTER VII. 

MR. MORROW. 

A WELL-DRESSED man, but for the air of being in his 
Sunday clothes ; a handsome man, but for a touch of in- 
decision, as if he did not feel quite sure whether his nose, 
eyes, and mouth really belonged to him; a well-bred 
man, but for a nervousness that indicated his own doubts 
on the subject — such was Mr. Merton Morrow, late Mayor 
of Strawton, and one of the leading manufacturers of the 
place. 

‘ I fear I interrupt. You are busy, I see,’ Mr. Morrow 
said, standing uneasily in the doorway. Had he suspected 
dynamite alike before and behind, he could hardly have 
looked more uneasy. ‘ I will call some other time.’ 

‘ Indeed you have come opportunely,’ Rapha said, offer- 
ing a chair. ‘ My friend Mr. Silverthorn — Professor Silver- 
thorn, Mr. Morrow — has been helping me to rearrange my 
little room ; but we have done now, and you can be of the 
utmost possible use to mew’ n./nolJd^hniij yrf 


42 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


‘ I am delighted to hear you say so, though I think yon 
are too kind, overstating the case,’ the visitor said, accepting 
the proffered seat gingerly; the most rickety concern out of 
a broker’s shop would hardly have been inspected with more 
caution. And once seated, he looked about restively as if 
for some excuse to get up again. 

‘ What I want you to do for me is this,’ Rapha said, 
whilst she poured out tea for her guests. ‘ Papa wishes to 
give one or two dinner-parties by way of knowing our neigh- 
bours. The difficulty is to know exactly the right persons to 
invite to meet each other.’ 

‘ I propose to Miss Rapham to jumble up her visiting- 
cards in a bag, and then pick out a score blindfold,’ Silver- 
thorn said ; ‘ or another plan equally simple would be to 
invite all those whose names begin with a vowel one day, 
and those beginning with a consonant the next’ 

Mr. Morrow looked hopelessly perplexed. He did not 
in the least know as yet the kind of society the millionnaire 
and his beautiful daughter wished for. Did they intend to 
fraternize only with the grand folks who held aloof from 
trade as from contamination ; who regarded a pedigree as 
the next best thing to be sure of after a place in Abraham’s 
bosom ? If so, then where was he ? What business had he 
in the heiress’s boudoir ? 

Rapha’s speech set his mind at ease. 

‘You will come, I hope?’ she asked naturally and 
cordially. 

‘Of course, if you wish it; with the greatest possible 
pleasure,’ was the. elate reply. 

‘ And I suppose we should begin by asking the Lowfunds. 
Have you any objection to meeting them ?’ she asked in 
he same straightforward manner. She was a tyro in the 


MR. MORROW. 


43 


mysteries of county society ; it never occurred to her that 
anyone could object to meet anyone so kindly and pleasant 
as Mr. Morrow. 

‘ Objection ? oh dear no ! On the contrary, I shall feel 
honoured,' Mr. Morrow said eagerly. The invitation, a 
bagatelle as it might seem to others, was in reality very 
important in Mr. Morrow’s eyes. It changed, indeed, the 
entire aspect of the future. 

Hitherto business — that is to say, the atmosphere of 
buying and selling — had kept the worthy manufacturer out 
of what is called good society. He was, socially speaking, 
debarred from sunshine by a thick environment of fog. 
But one thing was certain, Mr. Rapham’s entertainments 
were sure to be universally accepted. Whatever people 
might think of the rich man himself, they would not 
despise his venison and champagne. Here at last, then, 
Mr. Morrow saw the realization of his fondest wishes. At 
the table of this charming young hostess he should meet 
not only men after the pattern of Silverthorn, representing 
science and letters, but what he equally aspired to, that 
legendary ease and elegance, that inherited breeding, in his 
eyes the finishing touch, the salt, the acme of existence. 

Now Mr. Morrow was not in the very least a snob, in spite 
of these longings and illusions. Like many another, he only 
needed to see himself as others saw him, to be perfectly satis- 
fied alike with his own individuality and his condition in life. 
Everyone liked and respected him at Strawton. There was 
no earthly reason why he should wish to exchange his posi- 
tion for the Will-o’-the-wisp called fashionable society. The 
people he knev/ and visited were every whit as intelligent, 
as interesting, as estimable, as those he wished to be in- 
timate with. He could freely indulge in his favourite tastes 


44 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


and pursuits; having virtually, although not in the letter, 
retired from business, he was no longer compelled to 
buy or sell, occupy himself with sordid details, mix with 
those less instructed and less well-bred than himself. A 
bachelor of fifty, in easy circumstances, no ill-favoured son 
of Adam, he could still aspire to fireside joys and graces ; 
or, if he preferred to retain his freedom, he could do as the 
envied do : visit art galleries in foreign capitals — see some- 
thing of the historic worlds, Eastern and Western — lead a 
dilettante life. 

But, like the rest of us, Mr. Morrow must torment him- 
self for a toy not worth having, a thing chiefly valuable in 
his eyes because it had seemed hitherto unattainable. He 
had never met a single member of the aristocratic Lowfunds 
family, except at Corporation dinners and other public 
entertainments. And, as far as the feminine portion was 
concerned, if on friendly terms with him at the county ball 
to-day, they would be strangers to-morrow. 

Lady Letitia Lowfunds and her numerous family of 
grown-up daughters were not particularly fascinating, but 
they went everywhere, they met royalty here and there. 
Mr. Morrow regarded them with a feeling akin to venera- 
tion. 

When Rapha, therefore, produced her card-basket, and 
turning out the contents, begged him to arrange her two 
dinner-parties, he grew positively radiant. Shyness vanished 
altogether. He became so happy that he was within an 
inch of forgetting the errand on which he had come. 

Rapha, however, reminded him of it 

‘ Mr. Morrow,’ she said, when Silverthorn had left them 
to amuse himself by rearranging her pictures, ‘ papa does 
not wish me on any account to take any active part in 


MR. MORROW. 


45 


philanthropic work here, but I should like to contribute 
to deserving objects out of my allowance. Will you advise 
me?* ' 

* I came here to-day to talk to you on that very subject,* 
he said. * But pleasure invariably drives business out of 
my head. Miss Rapham ’ — here he suddenly warmed into 
eloquence — ‘your arrival here is inopportune for yourselves, 
but most fortunate, I may say providential, for others. It 
seems ungracious, perhaps, to come to you for money, 
before you have fairly taken possession of your new 
home? Yet with ruin staring us in the face, with want 
at our very doors, under such circumstances men scruple 
at nothing.* 

Poor Rapha*s heart sank within her. She divined his 
errand before he had told it. 

‘ What should a young lady like yourself know of depres- 
sion in trade, commercial crises, foreign competition, over- 
supply, and so forth?* continued the speaker. ‘To make 
a long story short, then, this unfortunate town, once pros- 
perous, is going through a cruel ordeal, being tried in the 
fire. One manufacturer after another has been obliged to 
put up his shutters, and I suppose you know the meaning 
of that. Ruin and disgrace for the man, sorrow and trouble 
for wife and children. Of course the evil day will be tided 
over. Such ups and downs are common to all branches 
of trade. But meantime we cannot let our townsfolk 
starve.* 

‘You want papa to help. I am sorry to say he has 
set his face against indiscriminate giving, much less lend- 
ing ’ 

Mr. Morrow thought she must have misunderstood the 
drift of his speech. 


46 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


‘I did not come to borrow, ' he said quickly. ‘It would 
require more than such a fortune as your father’s is said 
to be, to prop up the tottering credit of this poor place. 
The wave of ruin must sweep over it. I, for one, should 
be the last person in the world to ask a stranger to risk 
anything in so desperate a cause. To alleviate cases of 
individual distress, however, is a wholly different matter. 
Most of us can do that.’ 

His face said that Rapha’s father would surely make 
common cause with Strawton folk here. 

‘You had better not ask papa for anything, at least at 
present,’ Rapha replied, looking quite distressed. She had 
begun to read her father’s character so well. ‘Papa is 
unused to European life,’ she went on explanatorily. ‘ He 
cannot understand this constant necessity of giving in 
England. He thinks men who have worked hard to make 
money should be allowed to enjoy it in peace.’ 

Still Mr. Morrow looked incredulous. 

‘ If you wish it, I will of course say nothing,’ he replied, 
with a crestfallen look. ‘ But the matter I came about 
to-day is of the utmost urgency, and the help we ask for 
is really trifling — I mean to a wealthy man. I do really 
believe that Mr. Rapham could not say no. The fact is, 
we are getting off a ruined manufacturer, an excellent 
fellow with a promising young family, to the colonies. A 
subscription list has been opened for them, and I came to 
beg ten pounds, only ten pounds !’ 

Without a word Rapha unlocked her old-fashioned little 
desk, and taking out two five-pound notes, placed them in 
her visitor’s hands. 

‘ Accept them from me instead of going to papa,’ she said, 
colouring with vexation. 


MR. MORROW, 


47 


‘Indeed, you are too generous. I ought not to accept 
so much from you,’ Mr. Morrow replied, quite overcome. 
‘Young ladies, too, are such expensive beings nowadays, 
with the constant change of fashions. And balls coming 
on ! No, give me five pounds. I will take one note with 
pleasure.* 

But Rapha insisted, and the too happy Mr. Morrow, 
having overcome his scruples, carefully placed the notes in 
his pocket-book. 

‘ These cases are very trying,’ he said with tears in his 
eyes. ‘ They come home to one. This poor fellow I speak 
of is a gentleman in tastes and feeling, who knows the 
misery behind forced cheerfulness, the heart perhaps slowly 
breaking under a well-buttoned frock-coat ! You see, ruin 
spoils everything. A man never feels quite the same ! I 
assure you, what with these and kindred cases, everyone in 
the place is out of spirits just now.’ 

‘ We must try to cheer them up, then,’ Rapha said, ‘ and 
papa is quite willing to do that. He is determined to enter- 
tain handsomely.’ 

Mr. Morrow also brightened up. 

‘Your coming, I repeat, is quite a windfall to us just now. 
Giving entertainments is not charity, certainly, but it often 
answers the same purpose — gives employment, circulates 
money, and so on.’ 

‘ That is what papa says,’ Rapha replied. ‘ He is of 

opinion ’ but the remainder of the sentence was cut 

short by the announcement of another visitor. ‘ Mr. Ville- 

dieu ’ she said, laying down the card. ‘Why should 

you hurry away ?’ 

But with instinctive politeness, partly actuated also by 
another feeling, the well-bred manufacturer refused to be the 


48 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


over-lapping guest. The Honourable Frederick Villedieu 
belonged to the charmed circle of society from which Mr. 
Morrow, as a business man, had been hitherto shut out. 
There was shyness as well as a certain sense of triumph in 
this rencontre under Rapha’s roof. Mr. Morrow glanced 
at the new-comer, not quite sure if he should do the right 
thing in offering his hand. The cordial greeting of the man 
of the world reassured him. At any rate, there were to be 
no fine gradations, no nice social distinctions observed in 
a lady’s drawing-room. Mr. Morrow walked home solilo- 
quizing thus : ‘ Villedieu loses no time in paying court to 
the rich man and his pretty daughter ! An agreeable fellow, 
though, according to my old-fashioned Tory notions, hold- 
ing the most abominable doctrines. But he is sure to get 
into the next Parliament ; he is as clever as a man can well 
be, and the son of one lord, heir perhaps of another ! Old 
Rapham would like the sound of that, I should say. 

‘ Then there is that pleasant man from London. He and 
Miss Rapham seem to understand each other uncommonly 
well, eh? Are they engaged? No — yes — well, what on 
earth can it matter to me ?’ 


CHAPTER VIII. 

INITIATORS. 

‘ My good neighbour, Mr. Morrow, has been getting money 
out of you !’ said Rapha’s visitor, accepting a chair, 
evidently intending to have his Say out also. ‘ A kinder- 
hearted man never lived ; and there are too many hke him, 
alas r 


INITIATORS. 


49 


‘ Should you not say instead, “ Amen ” ?’ Rapha asked. 

She had only seen Mr. Villedieu once before ; but he had 
straightway set her at her ease. Although hardly middle- 
aged, he seemed much more than that in Rapha’s eyes. He 
was conversant with the world, familiar with thousands of 
subjects mere enigmas to herself. And he adopted, perhaps 
for expediency’s sake, a protective, admonishing, almost 
paternal air. This young girl appeared to him very solitary ; 
and whilst such a position undoubtedly had its charms in 
the eyes of his sex, he saw its perils also. What would 
become of this fair, hopeful, promising young life ? Would 
it fall into worthy or ignoble hands ? Would she, for once 
and for all, sacrifice everything to worldly ambition, make a 
fashionable marriage, and sink into feniiniiTe nonentity ? or 
choose the better part — throw in her lot with the thinkers, 
initiators, doers, of the new era dawning upon society ? 

In appearance, Mr. Villedieu afforded a striking contrast 
alike to the sunny-tempered, sturdy Professor, and the shy, 
self-questioning, self-criticising manufacturer. He had little 
of the traditional Englishman about him ; it was in his case 
as if, with the mental idiosyncrasy of a former period, the 
physical characteristics tended to disappear or undergo 
modification also. English he undoubtedly was ; but 
foreign bringing up, travel, cosmopolitan habits of life and 
intercourse, had removed that indescribable something, 
hitherto looked upon as the stamp of nationality. May it 
not, indeed, so come about that international communica- 
tion will have such effect — will in time assimilate nations by 
gradual degrees, not only affecting modes of thought, but 
changing, little by little, physical traits also ? 

Rapha having thrown down the gauntlet, he picked it up 
readily. 


4 


50 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


* Amen 7^ he cried. ‘Viciousness is the ugly reptile that 
any addlepate knows by sight ; kindness of heart how often 
the mere bloom of the rotten apple ! Just look around you, 
and see what brainless benevolence has done for this un- 
happy town ! Half the inhabitants live on the charity of the 
other half, and none feel any shame. Now, if the head 
spoke instead of the heart, if people listened to reason in- 
stead of sentiment, to offer or accept broken victuals and 
left-off clothes would be reckoned as disgraceful as 
the wearing of a convict’s badge. But I don’t want to 
preach to you on political economy ; that you will learn here 
in the best possible way — namely, by experience. I only 
offer a word of caution. You will, of course, be pressed to 
fraternize with this and that league of professional pauper- 
izers ; to join the ladies who lend out funeral bonnets and 
pantaloons ; to become a patrol- woman, delivering tracts on 
eternal burning for the consolation of the sick and aged 
poor. Hold aloof from them all.’ 

‘That is what papa is always saying ; but he comes to the 
same conclusion by a different way,’ Rapha said. ‘His 
maxim is, “ Every man should suffice for himself.” ’ 

‘ A very good maxim too, with the rider, “ and be allowed 
so to do.” Modern philanthropy handicaps the moral nature 
of the British people. ’Tis all very well to quote Burns, “ A 
man’s a man for a’ that.” Charity is bondage, and bondage 
is serfdom. But now talk to me of your father. What is 
he going to do for us all ?’ 

Rapha felt the same sense of humiliation as when 
catechized by the timid, apologetic manufacturer just before. 
Here, however, she had to deal with a more exacting in- 
quirer; she saw clearly enough that Mr. Villedieu would 
not be satisfied with half-explanations. 


INITIATORS. 


SI 

* In the first place/ continued the speaker, ‘ what are Mr. 
Rapham’s political and social creeds ? Which side does he 
adhere to — that of the rear or van guard, of retrogression 
tugging us by the heel into the limbo of the Middle Ages, 
or of advance, plunging forward as boldly as Phaeton driving 
the sun ?* 

* Papa says that he is wholly indifferent to politics,^ Rapha 
said. ‘He has lived so long out of England, that he seems 
to have lost all interest in such questions. He rarely so 
much as glances at a newspaper.* 

Mr. Villedieu paused reflectively. 

‘ Perhaps,* she went on, endeavouring for her own sake to 
look forward hopefully — '■* perhaps in time papa will become 
more interested in public affairs.* 

‘ Would he attend a public meeting, think you ?* asked 
the other. 

‘ He might possibly do so to please me,* Rapha said ; 
‘not for his own satisfaction, I am sure.* 

‘There is anotherpoint I wished to consult you about,* Ville- 
dieu went on, looking, as Mr. Morrow had done just before, 
slightly disconcerted. ‘ It is a delicate one ; yet I feel sure 
you will excuse me for putting it. You say that your father 
cares nothing about politics or social questions. Is he 
determined to hold aloof from one and all indiscriminately 
in the matter of money — to carry indifferentism to the pitch 
of closing his purse altogether? If so, I shall indeed be 
sorry, alike on his account and your own.* 

What could Rapha say ? There was nothing to do but 
emphasize her former negation. 

No good would come of asl^ing papa to subscribe to 
anything at present, I am sure,* she said. ‘The bare 
suggestion irritates him extremely/ 


4 — 2 


52 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


She coloured with vexation as she thought of her own 
fast-vanishing allowance, and added : 

‘ I fear, too, that all I have to give at present is already 
gone to the professional pauperizers, as you call them.’ 

‘ Oh, I wanted nothing just now !’ he laughed reassuringly. 
‘ And we progressists do not carry the hat round for half- 
sovereigns. We want blank cheques signed in our favour 
when we are about it. There will be plenty of opportunity 
for giving later on. I merely came to-day, hoping to enlist 
yourself and Mr. Rapham in our ranks.’ 

He studied her face for a moment, then went on very 
slowly and deliberately, evidently at great pains to be 
understood. 

‘The season is opportune. Now is the very nick of time 
for a man in your father’s position to take the foremost 
place in a town like this. For yourself also the oppor- 
tunity is equally splendid, equally alluring. Anyone who 
thinks for himself in these days must recognise the fact 
that the old prestige of wealth is all but obsolete, fast 
vanishing. Money, except in the ultimate, inevitable sense, 
has ceased to be a social force of the first importance. 
The mere money-bag, as our German neighbours call the 
new-made millionnaire, the moneyed man, is no longer a 
first power in the world. But wealth allied to ideas, wealth 
allied to character, to imagination, to courage, ah! there 
you have a lever indeed.’ 

Rapha was beginning to understand his meaning quite 
well. Every word, every syllable, made the future seem a 
more hopeless problem to her. 

* We have come to a crisis in human history, v/hen new 
influences alone can save society,’ he went on. ‘What we 
want is first of all disinterestedness, and a sense of abstract 


INITIATORS. 


53 


justice, then nobility of motive and feeling. And if men 
are needed as pioneers of the new creed, the new democracy, 
how much greater is the need of your own sex ! Women 
too' — here he smiled as he glanced at his fair listener — 
* women too, like the money-bags I spoke of just now, will 
come to be otherwise appraised. Sir Walter Scott — may 
Heaven forgive his heresies ! — declared it to be his opinion 
— he could not really help it, he said, but it made all the 
difference in the world to him whether a woman was hand- 
some or no. Had not other men been equally weak on the 
subject, France would hardly have been ruined to please 
Madame de Maintenon ! But the Great Revolution, our 
teacher in all things, cut off the heads alike of the pretty 
and ugly ; and granted that heads may be cut off at all, the 
principle was undoubtedly a right one. Is it not more 
rational to appreciate a woman for her wit, which will im- 
prove as she grows older, than for her beauty, which will 
wear out like her gowns ? We social reformers, of course, 
want to enlist in our cause the wit, the beauty, the pretty 
gowns, and all ! Now, what is needed at Strawton is a rally- 
ing-point, a centre — in fact, a salon. Why should not you 
hold a salon ?' 

He suddenly laughed at the audacity of such a proposal 
coming from himself. ‘Pray excuse me for the undue 
forwardness with which I speak out,’ he said. ‘ But you are 
a stranger in this place, and I know its necessities so well ! 
Besides, the matter being wholly of an impersonal nature, I 
need no more blush than our Vicar soliciting contributions 
towards a new organ ; I plead in reality the public cause. 
As it is, our forces here are too scattered, too inchoate to 
effect much. But a woman of spirit and enlightenment at 
the head of society would make all the difference ki the 


54 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


world. You have spacious rooms ; and never fear, people 
will come as soon as you ask them.’ 

‘ I will hear what papa says,’ Rapha replied. The prospect 
was certainly very attractive, and his manner too serious to 
be suspected of flattery. If indeed she could do as he 
proposed, how much more agreeable and profitable such 
reunions than the formal dinner-parties to be contracted for 
at so much per head, and got through by help of a pro- 
fessional talker I 

‘ Think the matter over,’ he said, rising to go. ‘ Try to 
reconcile your father to the notion. He could surely refuse 
you nothing?’ 

Rapha smiled, though less doubtfully. She was thinking 
that a salon would at least have one prepossessing feature in 
her father’s eyes : it would cost nothing, or next to nothing. 
Perhaps, too, the sight of a number of people assembled 
together might amuse him. 

‘ What society should be,’ the speaker went on, * is a 
stimulus to conversation, the opened weir letting loose the 
flood-gates of talk. But the fact is, people are over-amused 
in our drawing-rooms. The art of interchanging ideas has 
been almost lost by this pernicious habit of hiring experts to 
entertain our friends. We treat them, forsooth, as if they 
were deaf mutes, or visitors collected from remote nations to 
whom each other’s tongue was sheer gibberish ! Do not, for 
heaven’s sake, follow this plan ! Take for granted that your 
guests have at least wit enough for the whiling away of a 
couple of hours.’ 

‘ Your suggestion will be most useful to me,’ Rapha replied 
gaily. * I feel that something must be done with this big 
house.’ 

* If you feel that, you are a power in the place already/ 


INITIATORS. 


55 


said Mr. Villedieu. ‘ But again and again I ask pardon for 
my freedom of speech.’ 

He stood for a moment on the hearth-rug, as if hesitating 
to say one word more before he went away. 

‘ I wish I had a mother or sister to be of use to you,’ he 
said. * There are, however, plenty of amiable women here, 
as you will discover, and fortunately the chaperon is no 
longer obligatory.* 

‘Papa will accompany me everywhere,’ Rapha said 
quickly. 

Mr. Villedieu then took his leave, smiling to himself as 
he thought of the strange contrast the pair would present in 
society — the withered, fox-eyed trader, dry of speech, furtive 
of glance, uncouth of manner, apparently suspicious of 
everybody; and the fresh, fair young daughter, candour, 
grace, generosity incarnate. 

‘ Your visitors are uncommonly slow to go away,’ Silver- 
thorn growled, as he joined Rapha in the drawing-room. ‘ I 
see plainly enough what is looming in the distance.’ 

Having uttered that enigmatical speech, he shook his head, 
looking for the moment the very semblance of woe. Rapha’s 
lively report of the two visits gradually reassured him, and, 
to her great satisfaction, there was no leadenness or formality 
at the dinner-table. Mr. Rapham could talk of nothing but 
his farm, and Silverthorn entered into the subjects of ensilage 
and superphosphates. The old trader was evidently much 
impressed in his favour. 

‘ I shall be pleased to see you at any time, sir,* were the 
host’s parting words. ‘I should like to take you over my 
little place, and one thing I assure you — if nobody else can 
make farming pay nowadays, I will,* 


56 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


CHAPTER IX. 

WHAT IMAGINATION WILL DO, 

Mr. Rapham, of course, had his study — what country 
gentleman is without, if an ofttimes bookless room can be so 
designated ? There was a ready-reckoner, also an almanac, 
price-lists of everything purchasable under the sun, and a 
vast array of ledgers, all clasped with lock and key. Any- 
thing to read you might as well look for in a sentry-box, a 
balloon, or by the helmsman’s wheel. 

Rapha was free to beautify the rest of the house at 
pleasure, but he would brook no interference here. Business 
is business, he said ; when a man is up to his ears in figures, 
he does not want a room choke-full of trinkums and kick- 
shaws. Rapha did not like her father to sit too much in 
that bare room. Every day his inordinate love of money 
was becoming plainer to her, and the atmosphere of his 
so called study seemed to intensify it ; he would emerge 
crabbed, careworn, and waspish, as if some dark genius or 
evil spirit held communion with him in his solitude. When 
his seclusion was broken, as it would often be by unwelcome 
intruders, people who came to him for money or to ask 
other favours, his voice would rise to an angry key, and 
expressions drop from his lips that made her blush and flee 
out of hearing. 

She was crossing the hall next morning, after the inter- 
views with her new neighbours, when the sound of a woman’§ 


WHAT IMAGINATION WILL DO. 


57 


voice reached her from that hated closet — firm, clear, pas- 
sionate tones pleading some cause to the rich man, evidently 
a matter, to the speaker, of life or death. 

Again and again Mr. Rapham’s sharp negations inter- 
rupted the stream of calm, womanly eloquence; but she 
would be heard to the end, returning to her point in spite of 
his harsh, unmannerly, almost brutal efforts to put a stop to 
the scene. 

At last the interview was brought to a sudden close. In 
the midst of those earnest utterances, music itself and 
tremulous with passion, came a hurried imprecation, a loud, 
vulgar oath, and Mr. Rapham strode out of the room. His 
sulky awaited him at the front-door, and, too angry to notice 
Rapha’s presence, he mounted the seat, and in furious 
haste drove away. 

It was a minute or two before Rapha could sufficiently 
recover herself to move a step. Tears of shame filled her 
eyes, deep painful blushes dyed her cheeks ; then hastening 
towards the pale, trembling suppliant, she did her best to 
apologize. 

‘ I am sorry papa is unable to do anything for you,’ she 
said very sympathetically. ‘ Will you come and tell me what 
it is you want ?’ 

The intruder was a pale, slender, naturally beautiful girl ; 
but in her case, as in that of so many imaginative women, 
beauty had been neglected for impersonal things. She 
could hardly have been twenty-five, yet allowed, rather en- 
couraged, herself to look ten years older. Dressed very 
plainly in black, free from coquetry as a nun, but for a 
certain indescribable girlishness and timidity, she might at 
the first glance have been taken for some wistful, much-tried 
widow or anxious young mother. Not a vestige of maidenly 


58 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


self-consciousness was here, although nothing could be 
neater than her appearance and dress, and look and 
behaviour both bespoke one of nature’s gentlewomen. 

Wiping away her tears — for Mr. Rapham’s violent dis- 
missal had made her weep also — she gratefully followed 
Rapha to her own pretty room ; the pair sat down amid the 
flowers, books and pictures. 

* It is foolish of me to be cast down ; I had no right to 
expect encouragement from an entire stranger,’ began the 
visitor ; ‘ and I am not really out of heart, only a trifle de- 
pressed for the moment.’ 

She smiled, a smile wonderfully embellishing the too 
thoughtful face. 

‘ By this time, too, I ought to be hardened to rebuffs, I 
have had so many ; but what will not a mother endure for 
her children — her children of the brain ?’ 

‘You are, then, an author, or oaybe an artist?’ asked 
Rapha. 

‘ I am an inventress,’ was the proud reply. ‘ Let me 
introduce myself. My name is Bee — Norrice Bee. I teach 
arithmetic and mathematics in schools, and live with my 
widowed mother at Strawton. We are in poor circumstances, 
but I did not go to Mr. Rapham for charity. What I 
wanted was to interest him in my invention.’ 

‘ I fear papa is the very last person in the world to take 
up anything new. I should much like to hear about it 
myself, and to be of use to you if I can.’ 

Poor Rapha ! she was ever hoping against hope to be able 
to help everybody ! 

* If you would indeed pay us a visit,’ the girl said eagerly, 

* it would give my mother new faith in my invention ; though 
she is like myself — nothing really damps her ardour.’ 


WHAT IMAGINATION WILL DO. 


59 


‘ I will drive you home now/ Rapha said, enchanted at 
the notion of using that terrible carriage ; and the inventress, 
confessing that her four-mile walk had somewhat tired her, 
accepted with gratitude. 

‘ Miss Rapham, this is Miss Rapham ! and, dear me, how 
kind of her to bring you ! It is always such a gratification 
to me to see a carriage and pair at the door !’ cried Mrs. 
Bee, who had witnessed their arrival from the window. 

‘ And how good of you to visit us in this humble lodging,’ 
she added, offering her visitor a chair ; ‘ though,’ she went 
on in the same cheerful, birdlike strain, ‘with a little 
imagination, what does it matter in the least where or how 
we live ? I have only to fancy that cabbage-garden oppo- 
site, with clothes hanging out to dry, a palm-grove or- 
orangery, and it is just as good as if I saw them instead.’ 

‘ Mamma has a very happy organization,’ Norrice said 
with a sigh. ‘ These two small rooms, with an attic above 
for my workshop, form our home. The look-out is not very 
cheerful, yet she is every bit as contented as if she lived in 
Windsor Castle.’ 

‘ Why people should be discontented with their circum- 
stances I cannot conceive,’ Mrs. Bee continued. ‘ I firmly 
believe the habit arises from obtuseness of intellect. Now, 
there are dozens of events happening every day most people 
would give their ears to see — royal weddings, regattas, 
opening of exhibitions, and so on. I just sit down quietly 
with my needle-work and imagine them all, so that I am as 
well off and better than those who spend heaps of money, 
and tire themselves to death into the bargain, by running 
after such sights. It is the same with eating and drinking. 
Some people wonder how Norrice and I can be so contented 
with the humblest fare, whereas if you are at all of an 


6o 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


inventive turn, whenever you are dining off pork and 
cabbage, you have only to fancy that venison or pheasant or 
any other delicacy is before you, and it amounts to the same 
thing as eating them in the end/ 

‘ I fear few of us have imaginations so vivid as that,* 
Rapha said, smiling. 

‘ Depend on it, a vivid imagination is the greatest blessing 
Heaven can bestow upon us,’ Mrs. Bee went on. ‘ It makes 
us resigned to all the disappointments and calamities of life. 
Norrice’s inventions, for instance — I sit down and fancy 
them all splendid successes, and it is for the time as if they 
really were so.* 

‘Unfortunately, disillusions are not so easy to imagine 
away,’ Norrice said, quietly satirical. ‘When the tax- 
gatherer gives his dreaded knock, we can hardly imagine 
him to be some benefactor: the very person, above all 
others in the world, we are dying to see.’ 

‘ But we can think of the scores of people who would be 
a thousand times more unwelcome than the tax-gatherer !’ 
Mrs. Bee exclaimed with great vivacity. ‘ A detective, say, 
supposing we had committed forgery; or the policeman to 
drag us to prison if we had murdered anyone in an un- 
guarded moment, as so many poor misguided creatures do. 
Or, to come to things a shade less dreadful, we can imagine 
him to be a bad husband or son come back from Australia 
to eat us out of house and home. Whichever way I look at 
it, I see as plain as daylight that there is nothing like a 
lively imagination to lighten the troubles of life.’ 

‘ Imagination consoles me in a wholly different way,* 
Norrice said. ‘ I see things as if they were real, but am 
conscious all the while that they are no more tangible than 
the hues of sunset. Cabbage-beds and clothes-lines — 


WHAT IMAGINATION WILL DO. 


6 ] 


no, I don’t see palms and orange-groves in their place. 
But I love to read of them, and see them afar off with the 
mind’s eye. Now, mamma, I will take Miss Rapham to 
my workshop.* 

* And I will stay here and watch the carriage drive up and 
down,’ Mrs. Bee said, going to the window. * Nothing, I 
do honestly believe, pleases me so much as to see a carriage 
and pair driving up and down before my windows — an open 
carriage, of course, with servants in livery and fur-rugs lying 
on the seat — no one can suppose it to be the doctor then ! 
And I assure you. Miss Rapham, such is the world, though 
I do not think so badly of it as some people do — such is the 
w'orld, that a carriage and pair with livery servants driving 
up and down before your door, when you live in humble 
lodgings, is every bit as good as paying a quarter’s rent in 
advance. It impresses the vulgar mind so much.’ 

The two girls climbed a couple of narrow staircases; 
then Norrice, with quiet pride, threw open the door of her 
workshop. It was a bare whitewashed room under the roof, 
with one small dormer-window, fortunately too high to show 
anything but a bit of sky. Only small gardens lay on this 
side of the house, and they were suggestive of anything but 
flowers and sunshine ; instead were to be seen amorphous 
pumpkins, smoke-begrimed stunted cabbages, with here and 
there a worm-eaten rose-tree or blighted chrysanthemum. A 
veritable hospital of sick and distorted plants was each 
garden-plot, or penitentiary in which certain scapegoats of 
the vegetable world did penance for the shortcomings of 
their kind. Here also were clothes-lines with linen hanging 
out to dry, as if anything ever did dry in that damp, fog- 
laden atmosphere. 

But no sooner was Norrice in her beloved workroom than 


62 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


she exuberated with felicity. The incomparable Cellini 
himself, prince of geniuses, prince of braggadocios, could 
hardly have testified more rapture at sight of his favourite 
chef-d’oeuvre, the Perseus, than this meek-spirited girl when 
she found herself amid her inventions. For the room was 
almost full of them. Models, small, great, and middling- 
sized, occupied every available corner, leaving hardly space 
for a turning-lathe, an electric machine, and various 
mechanical appliances. The pair could but just find 
standing-room. 

‘You can have no idea how happy I am here,’ Norrice 
said, as she closed the door after them. ‘ I have entered 
into a compact with mamma and the people of the house, 
that, when once shut up in my workroom, nobody is to 
disturb me on any account whatever. It is therefore a 
sanctuary, a frith-stool or seat of peace, like those found in 
ancient churches. All the worries and vexations of life — 
and we have our share — are locked out for a brief moment. 
I am free to dream my dreams, and live my own life un- 
disturbed and alone.’ 

A fine glow suffused her pale cheek, and her voice 
trembled with eagerness as she glanced round the chaotic 
room. 

‘ Inventors are like scientific discoverers — they must be 
satisfied with one result for a thousand failures, and regard 
their labours as a series of stepping-stones, ofttimes leading 
others to the goal. Was not thfe great Kepler about to 
abandon an inquiry of seventeen years, when he lighted 
upon the true laws of planetary motion ? And Newton ? 
How many patient hours and anxious nights must be set 
against his discovery of the algorithm ! I have, of course, 
failed in many of my inventions — have come within an inch, 


fVHAT IMAGINATION WILL DO. 


63 


as it seemed to me, of the true principle ; but that principle 
has eluded my grasp. Now — at least in a signal instance — 
I have overcome every difficulty ; I believe I am victorious !’ 

* Would it cost so very much to bring out your invention ?’ 
asked Rapha innocently. 

‘ An inventor should always be a millionnaire, to begin 
with. Remember poor Palissy !* retorted Norrice, with 
quiet scorn. * Here am I, for instance, a woman, a needy 
governess, only able, by dint of the utmost economy, to 
purchase such tools and appliances as I need, to say nothing 
of patents and blue-books ! If my invention is worth any- 
thing at all, it is worth wealth untold ! Yet the utmost I 
can hope for — and I think the joy of such good fortune 
would kill me outright — is to find some mercenary speculator 
willing to rob me of it : the profit, even the repute of my 
work, to remain his — my very name to be ignored.* 

‘That seems very cruel,* Rapha said, wondering if for 
once — for once only — her father could not be induced to 
lend a helping hand. 

‘ The cruel part of it would never affect my mother ; and 
for myself, I am almost insensible to such checks. What I 
really care about is to see my ideas made to live; my 
creations — that is to say, the best part of myself— embodied 
in the. daily existence, the thoughts of others. The hard, 
unenviable lot, it seems to me, is simply to be born, live and 
die, for one’s own poor joys, sorrows, and weakness. Of 
course the glory of a discoverer’s name would be very sweet : 
that is too much to hope for. So now let me explain to 
you my last, my crowning invention I* 


64 


THE PARTING OF THE WAY^. 


CHAPTER X. 

A GIRL PHILOSOPHER. 

‘The great Pascal/ began Norrice, ‘invented the wheel- 
barrow ; and had not the mystics of Port Royal succeeded 
in making him believe science altogether abominable, he 

would most likely have gone a step farther * She smiled 

at the audacity of her comparison, as she added : ‘ And anti- 
cipated me — and invented a method of annihilating weight. 
Surely a genius who at twelve years of age discovered for him- 
self the principles of Euclid, might have found out how to 
carry weights without loss of nerve-power — contrived a buffer, 
in fact, to stave off the effects upon the bearer.* She put her 
hand upon a carefully covered model; and before lifting 
the veil, said, in a low, earnest voice : ‘ I must tell you that 
for the present this invention of mine must be kept a pro- 
found secret* Here a painful blush rose to her pale, thin 
cheeks. ‘ I have not yet found means to protect myself by 
patent. Were the idea to be filched from me now, I should 
have no redress. You, I know, I can thoroughly trust* 

Rapha smiled assent ; she felt that there was no need to 
say a word on her own behalf. 

‘To your father, also, I tried to explain the principle of 
my invention. Rich as he is, he can be under no tempta- 
tion of robbing other people’s brains. Now, look and 
listen with undivided attention.* She uncovered the model, 
tenderly, proudly, as some late-made mother her first-born 


A GIRL PHILOSOPHER. 


65 


— ^the passionately desired offspring that lias come long after 
the bloom of youth is past. ‘ I talked to you just now,’ she said, 
‘ of apparerxtly annihilating weight— that is to say, of enabling 
people to carry heavy burdens without fatigue or exhaustion. 
Think what a blessing any invention effecting that would be 
to the poor ! It was the spectacle of poor, half-starved 
children, staggering under loads much too heavy for them, 
that first set me thinking. One especial case— a lad in my 
Sunday-school, crippled for life in this way — I could never 
get out of my mind. I said to myself there must be 
some principle by which the effect of weight could be 
diminished, even done away with, if we could only discover 
it. I pondered on the subject night and day. I could 
hardly eat or sleep. I sold the few trinkets I possessed, in 
order to take lessons in geometry and mechanics. I sat up 
till midnight studying ; and at last, when I had almost begun 
to despair, light dawned upon me. I accidentally hit upon 
the very principle I had sought so long and so painfully. 
Now for the proof.’ She bustled about, and the verification 
began. ‘Fancy yourself for the moment a washer-woman, 
and having to. carry this basket of linen for a couple of 
miles. How burdensome it is ! How it strains the arms ! 
I adjust it by means of my invention ! But where is the 
weight ? You are no longer conscious of it !’ 

‘ Wonderful !’ Rapha cried, overcome with girlish en- 
thusiasm. ‘There is no mistake about it. The most 
sceptical could but be convinced.’ 

‘Next you are to suppose yourself a little nurse-girl, and this 
bundle is a baby you have to carry about for hours at a time. 
No wonder nurse-girls grow up with weak spines and round 
shoulders. But, my appliance called into play, the baby 
readjusted thus, a six-year-old child could dandle it now. 


66 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


* Quite marvellous !* again exclaimed the enthusiastic 
Rapha. ‘You are indeed a genius! I could not have 
believed these things without the evidence of my own 
eyes.’ 

The inventress, enraptured beyond measure, must try 
another and yet another experiment. ‘ This time you are a 
soldier, and here is your knapsack. It is the exact weight 
carried on march, for I have taken pains to ascertain. 
What fatigue even for the strongest to walk thus loaded ! I 
readjust the knapsack with the aid of my invention. Behold, 
the man’s shoulders are free ! If a war were to Break out 
— which heaven forbid ! — the soldiers thus relieved would 
be sure of victory.’ 

‘You are certain to make your fortune! You will be 
richer than papa with all his trading in gold-dust and ivory/ 
Rapha said. 

Norrice shook her head, though the glow of rapture had 
not faded from her face. 

‘ Yet a final proof. Not only little nursemaids, apprentice- 
boys, soldiers, and washer-women would reap the benefit of 
my invention. What opulent house could afford to be 
without it? Rich people pay parlourmaids and housemaids 
to carry their tea-trays and coal-scuttles up and down stairs, 
but how can they compensate for the strength worn out in 
their service ? Here is a tray, or what will do duty for a tray, 
laden for five o’clock tea. Imagine yourself having to carry 
it from an underground kitchen to a drawing-room floor, 
first with, then without, my invention.’ 

Rapha, more enchanted than before, insisted on retrying 
each experiment, finally kissing the inventress with reiterated 
words of conviction and encouragement. 

‘ It is just such simple discoveries as these that help to 


A GIRL PHILOSOPHER. 


67 


make life easy/ said Norrice, quietly triumphant. ‘ Yes, if 
ever my invention comes into everyday use all the world 
over, I may not be the richer for it, people may ignore my 
very name, but the unknown discoverer would be blessed 
by all who have to toil for daily bread. I desire no higher 
reward.’ 

She wiped away a tear or two, whether of joyful looking 
forward or mere consciousness of power, she could hardly 
have said herself. But Rapha’s unco.*.promising praises 
had certainly heartened her. She looked fresh, youthful, 
gay, as they descended to the little parlour. 

‘ You have kept Miss Rapham a very long time in that 
cold attic,’ cried Mrs. Bee ; ‘ though, to be sure, as far as I 
am concerned, I should be well pleased to see those 
beautiful horses prancing up and down the street all day 
long. Pretty dears, they really seem to know what pleasure 
they give ! And what do you think of Norrice’s last inven- 
tion ? — though it matters little what one thinks. An inven- 
tion, like a baby, is always praised to its mother’s face.’ 

‘ I say she ought, she must make a fortune,’ Rapha said 
heartily. 

‘ Oh yes,’ Mrs. Bee replied. ‘ My firm conviction is that 
some day or other, in the dim, mysterious future, Norrie 
and I shall keep our carriage and pair too. But I know 
nothing whatever of the discovery itself ; I begged Norrie 
not to tell me. You see, do what I would, I could not help 
talking about it to everybody. But will you not condescend 
to lunch with us ?’ 

‘ I fear Miss Rapham’s imagination might not be able to 
transform our Barmecide’s feast into a tolerable meal, 
Norrice said. 

‘ Barmecide’s feast indeed !’ retorted Mrs. Bee, with a 

5—2 


68 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


scornful toss of the head. * I am sure Miss Rapham is no 
epicure. Extras, of course, she would not expect at our 
table.’ 

‘ Mamma has a wonderful knack at knocking impossi- 
bilities on the head,’ Norrice rejoined. ‘ She just pounds 
away at them as Nelson at the enemy’s broadsides. I never 
yet knew her to go to the larder and own it to be empty.’ 

‘Was ever a larder quite empty?’ retorted Mrs. Bee with 
spirit. ‘ All things go by comparison. I turn to ours, for 
instance, when I want to make a dinner out of nothing, and 
the thing is always done. I don’t find a cold leg of mutton 
here, or a turkey ready to spit ; but I always find a bone of 
some kind — it may have been boiled down before, and that 
makes little or no difference. You never can boil all the 
goodness out of a bone. There is always — unless a dog had 
its turn — some for the last-comer. Then you look about, 
and in the most denuded larder you are sure to find some- 
thing to pop into the saucepan with your bone — an onion, a 
carrot, or something. Next you take a handful of flour and 
a pinch of salt, and there, with toasted bread, is your dinner! 
No one in robust health wants a better. As for extras, in 
eating and drinking as well as other matters, they are all 
pernicious in the extreme — so many tickets by express train 
to the grave.’ 

‘ Then you and I, mamma, ought to live to be a hundred 
at least. If immunity from extras ensures longevity, we are 
sure to become patriarchal,’ Norrice rejoined, still satirical 
and sportive. 

‘Ah I if I could wield the pen I would write a book upon 
extras, and show all the harm they have done in the world,’ 
Mrs. Bee said. ‘Eve’s apple — was not that an extra she 
had no business with ? and so on throughout the history of 


A GIRL PHILOSOPHER, 


69 


civilized ^man. The craving for extras has wrought our 
perdition. I am fond of reading, and I always read the 
chronicles of past epochs with that fatal proclivity to extras 
in my mind. Helen of Troy was nothing but an extra; 
had Paris been content with his proper portion of love and 
matrimony, those bloodthirsty deeds we read of in Homer 
might have been avoided, and poor Andromache not 
made a broken-hearted widow. Then Louis XIV. — his 
whole career, I am sure, is little else but a homily on extras. 
What with Madame de Montespan, her gilded boat, her 
carriage and six, and her forty-five attendants, and his in- 
dulgences in other extras of a similar kind, the country was 
almost ruined. But even these did not satisfy him. He 
must needs want everybody to think like himself about 
religion ; and if that is not craving after an extra, what is ? 
as if we ought not to rest satisfied with having our own souls 
to look after — quite enough of a business, I am sure. Well, 
dear Miss Rapham, to quit the Edict of Nantes for minor 
subjects, won’t you really send away the horses, and join 
our modest table ? No extras, you know.* 

‘ Thank you, indeed I cannot stay ; papa expects me at 
home,’ Rapha said, rising. 

‘ I am siure it is very good of you to come at all, and you 
don’t look as if extras would spoil you, though they certainly 
have a very undesirable effect on most people. They are 
bad for the mind, bad for the health, bad for the temper,* 
Mrs. Bee got in. 

‘The difficulty is where to draw the line,’ Norrice added, 
demurely sarcastic. ‘Once admit that truffles, point-lace, 
and hothouse flowers are extras, and we may soon force 
ourselves to regard Diogenes in his tub as the only standard 
for a rational being to follow. But, mamma, you have yet 


70 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


to learn the good news — Miss Rapham has promi^d to do 
what lies in her power for my invention. We two may be 
demoralized by extras, after all.* ^ 

‘ I don’t think, somehow, that extras would demoralize me, 
either, although one can never fathom one’s own weakness,’ 
Mrs. Bee replied. ‘And I won’t say — I can’t honestly 
declare,’ she added, looking gratefully at Rapha, ‘ that on 
account of my daughter I should regret to be in easy cir- 
cumstances ; though, of course, things would balance them- 
selves in the end — they invariably do in life. Suppose now 
that this invention brings us in, say, a hundred thousand 
pounds, I feel positive in my own mind some calamity would 
happen to us to counteract such a piece of good fortune — a 
railway accident, a sunstroke, our house burnt to the ground, 
or something.’ 

‘ Then we will bargain for half the sum, and more of a 
trifle in the shape of a calamity. Fifty thousand pounds and 
a broken leg. Ten thousand and the ceiling tumbling in 
when we are in bed,’ laughed Norrice gaily. 

‘ After all that may be said and done,’ Mrs. Bee replied, 
‘ there is nothing for a girl like steady-going, old-fashioned 
matrimony. Now if only Norrie would give up thinking 
from morning till night about her inventions, and be iust 
ordinarily civil to the suitable men round about, I am sure 
she would soon have a handsome home to call her own. 
There is Mr. Merton Morrow now ; why a girl in Norrie’s 
position should turn up her nose at such a man as that 
passes my comprehension.’ 

Norrice laughed merrily. Nothing diverted her more 
than her mother’s happy-go-lucky way 'of counting her 
suitors on her fingers’-end. Norrice knew, and all Strawton 
womankind knew by this time, that Mr. Morrow was a 


A GIRL PHILOSOPHER, 


71 


confirmed old bachelor ; as least, as far as his townswomen 
were concerned. But although Mrs. Bee’s possible sons-in> 
law were as remote as the man in the moon, she thought 
of them and prattled of them as if Norrice had but to smile 
to see one and all on their knees. As for the inventress 
herself, she was one of those girls who had attained her 
twenty-fifth year without the remotest desire to fall in love 
or be fallen in love with. Her heart was in her inventions, 
and what affection she had to give was bestowed upon her 
mother. 

‘ Then if Mr. Merton Morrow is not good enough, with 
his nice detached house, three servants, garden, and pony- 
carriage,’ continued Mrs. Bee, ‘there is Mr. Venn, senior 
curate of Christ Church. I could not desire a more gentle- 
manly son-in-law; a little stiff, perhaps, but a wife would 
soon cure him of that. It is inconceivable to me that Norrie 
should teach in his Sunday-school and never take any trouble 
to please him — nephew of a bishop, too— sure to be a rector 
ere long.’ 

Again a sportive laugh from Norrice, Mr. Venn, every- 
body in Strawton was aware of the fact, was a marrying man, 
but was looking after position and a large fortune. If Mr. 
Merton Morrow as a son-in-law was remote from Mrs. Bee 
as the man in the moon, the Reverend Mr. Venn was as far 
off as the sun. 

‘ Mr. Venn is charming in the pulpit! If one could spend 
one’s entire existence with him up there, I should desire 
nothing better,’ she said. 

‘Ah! girls think nobody good enough for them nowa- 
days,’ Mrs. Bee said ruefully; ‘and never was a greater 
mistake. Then there is the Vicar himself, a widower with 
grown-up sons, and elderly, to be sure, but so kind and 


72 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


benevolent ; no need to be afraid of him out of the pulpit. 

"And what a house to live in — that delightful old vicarage, 
with the cedars in front 1 Any right-minded girl must be 
happy there.’ 

Mrs. Bee’s suitor was as far off as the planet Jupiter now ! 
All Strawton realized that their worthy Vicar would never 
marry again. He was sixty. He loved comfort ; he had 
orphan grandchildren to provide for ; and last, but not least, 
the matrimonial net had been spread again and again before 
his eyes to no purpose. 

But it was all one to the imaginative Mrs. Bee. Norrice 
could marry anybody she chose. Only her own indifference 
obstructed the matrinjonial path. These visionary mar- 
riages and illusory sons-in-law made her maternal heart far 
happier than the reality would probably have done. Who 
could wish her a clearer vision ? Were we never able to 
believe that the fond hope of the hour is quite certain 
to be fulfilled, no matter what hindrances are in the way, 
life would be dreary indeed. Are not some of its most 
blissful moments consecrated to dreams and illusions com- 
pared with which Mrs. Bee’s aerial matrimony is sober 
prose ? 


NORRICE'S EXTRA, 


73 


CHAPTER XL 
norrice’s extra. 

* You will be lifted up to the skies now, and no mistake !’ 
cried Mrs.' Bee, after watching Rapha drive off. ‘Such 
praises of your invention, and an invitation to dinner for us 
both into the bargain 1 What a mercy that the very things 
in the way of dress we have not got happen to be out of 
date r 

Mrs. Bee had more ways than one of making things 
comfortable all round If she could not witness a royal 
wedding, why, what easier than to sit by one’s fireside 
and imagine it? If her larder were next door to empty, 
she could prove by unanswerable logic that every absent 
comestible was an extra, not in the faintest degree necessary 
either to nutrition or gastronomic enjoyment; and what 
was neither to be conjured up by the fancy nor made to 
appear absolutely superfluous, was straightway set down 
as out of date, obsolete, mummified, like the Pharaohs of 
old. 

‘ Gold bracelets, diamond hair-pins, pearl necklaces, such 
as used to be worn in my young time, nobody sees them 
nowadays. They are all completely out of date, fortunately 
for us,’ she went oa ‘ We shall look as well as the rest ia 
our old black silks.’ 

‘ Shabbiness is never out of date. That should be balm 
in Gilead,’ Norrice answered, blithe but sarcastic. 


74 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


‘ One never need look shabby with a little management,* 
Mrs. Bee said, slightly nettled. She was vexed at what she 
called Norrice’s light-mindedness. ‘ The thing is at a party 
never to stand too much in the light ; keep in dark corners 
and in the thick of the crowd, then you are perfectly safe 
from minute observation. And never to throw off your lace 
shawl — well, we have no lace shawls, certainly, but so long 
as it is something light worn over the shoulders, no one is a 
bit the wiser. Then with regard to gloves: nothing so 
absurd as to worry about gloves ! Left-hand gloves never 
wear out ; I have a whole stock of them. The expedient — 
I have resorted to it dozens of times — is to keep the left 
hand gloved throughout the entire evening ; then what with 
fanning one’s self, partaking of refreshment, turning over 
engravings and so on, you really never want a right-hand 
glove at all. It is a mere superfluity.* 

‘ It is so long since I went to a party, you must put me 
well through my paces before the event, mamma. Well, I 
wish quarter-day were out of date as well as right-hand 
gloves,’ Norrice said. ‘What shall we do?’ 

‘What have we done scores of times before?’ Mrs. Bee 
replied testily. ‘But don’t you distress yourself; just you 
leave our landlady to me. Nothing is more ridiculous than 
to harass yourself about bills you cannot pay. They will 
be paid some day— it is to be hoped so, at least — but whilst 
you can’t, you can’t, and not the Sultan and all his Bashaws 
could make you. Any addlepate must see that’ 

Meantime the dinner, made out of nothing, had been 
served and eaten. Norrice, ready for fun even in anxious 
moments, retied her bonnet-strings and kissed her mother 
gaily. 

‘You work accustomed miracles, then, mammy dear, 


NORRICE'S EXTRA, 


75 


whilst I get another walk. I feel as if I wanted to be out 
of doors all day when a fine Saturday comes.* 

Mrs. Bee acquiesced with a look of serene superiority, 
and the delighted girl hastened downstairs. Out of the 
door, along the narrow street, towards the open country, 
she sped as if wings were adjusted to her feet. Norrice 
never really lost hope, or doubted in herself. No rebuffs 
could shake her faith in her own inventive faculty; she 
would go on as she had begun to the end. For all that, 
life would sometimes wear a dreary look. Such words of 
sweet encouragement as Rapha had just given her were 
very welcome. Uncongenial tasks and the consciousness 
of being generally doubted, even ridiculed, were not her, 
hardest trials, though trials they were to so sensitive a 
nature. What oppressed her most was the atmosphere of 
ugliness in which she had to live, the scant portion of 
beauty to be attained in daily life. 

Loveliness was the extra she hungered and thirsted for, 
unable to check her cravings ; loveliness, alike visible and 
spiritual, of the outer as of the inner world. 

Not only as a town was Strawton monotony and ugliness 
itself ; that would have been sufficiently hard to bear. 
Here, as in other manufacturing centres, excessive seden- 
tary toil engendered moral deformity. Want of gaiety and 
grace in the everyday, work-a-day world brought about a 
craving for stimulus of less wholesome kind. Religious 
revivalism was rampant, yet self-indulgence followed in its 
wake. 

Many of the pallid girls — ‘hands,’ as they were called 
hereabouts — who paraded the streets in fine clothes on 
Sundays, and wanted bread in slack seasons, Norrice could 
only acknowledge her sisters by virtue of sex. Poverty had 


76 


THE PARTING OF THE WA YS, 


degraded them. She must pity them, lift them from the 
mire if she could ; she could not love them. 

And when winter came, the place seemed a veritable 
purgatory, or scene of mortal expiation. Even Norrice 
and her mother would be beset by those more indigent 
than themselves, whilst morning and night two gloomy pro- 
cessions might be seen parading the dark, frost-nipped, 
windy streets — ragged, reckless vagrants betaking them- 
selves for shelter to the poor-house towards evening; tidy 
yet hollow-eyed women and children hastening to the pawn- 
shop at dawn, eagerly waiting till the grim yet welcome doors 
should open. 

These things oppressed her spirits; but even at this 
season of the year, with winter at hand, she could obtain 
a snatch of peace, joy and loveliness, amply compensating 
for the gloom left behind. Just outside the smoke-begrimed, 
low-spirited-looking town, the road curved between wide 
cornfields, now ploughed for autumn sowing ; and following 
an inner path under the tall hedges, she could find solitude. 
A bare unsuggestive landscape enough, some would say; 
except for the undergrowth and the hedgerows, no greenery 
in the succession of fallow, no break, only a waving line of 
distant woods, and the wide, wide heavens above. 

But when the October sun shone out, what pageantry 
was here! clouds and skies of the Midlands — none more 
poetic or pictorial in England ! There is, indeed, a subtle 
charm in these aerial landscapes, not perhaps found in 
more romantic regions. The skies above the vast sweep 
of undulating chalk hkve a peculiar depth and tenderness of 
blue ; the clouds, a marvellous brilliance, transparence, and 
variety of form. So beautiful, indeed, are the cloud-pictures 
here that we need hardly look for beauty below. 


NORRICE'S EXTRA. 


77 


And even when the skies are dull and overcast, no golden 
gates thrown open afar, disclosing another and yet another 
firmament — heaven within heaven of rosy gold and pale 
azure — the skylarks kept Norrice company. They seemed, 
indeed, to soar and sing with double zest on a gloomy day, 
as if conscious of a ministry to perform, aware that they 
were the Ariels of a dull world ! 

Norrice sought these fallow fields as much^or the sake of 
th« sky-larks as the clouds. She would pause and listen to 
them with a rapture she could hardly have put into words. 
They cheered and inspirited her more even than her favourite 
poets could do. The dreary town and the unblessed lot of 
so many of her townsfolk were for the moment forgotten ; 
her own little sordid troubles, too. With the sky-lark’s note 
her spirit seemed to take wing, and, in such elate company, 
reach a loftier, lovelier abiding-place. She was for the 
moment as exultant, as little of a care-laden mortal, as the 
songster itself. 

How the heavens rang that October afternoon ! The 
day was like most human lives, neither altogether brilliant 
nor made up of unbroken murkiness. Gleams of sunshine 
shot aslant over. the distant fields and woods, breaks of blue 
appeared overhead ; the wide landscape, monotonous and 
sober as it was in tone, looked clear and bright ; and mean- 
time, one after another, up rose the skylarks from the fallow 
and pierced the infinite, carolling as they went Higher and 
higher they soared, deeper, more fervent the volume of song 
poured forth from their little throats, till the cup of rapture 
was full. Then came the last, long, lingering cadence, so 
dim as to be hardly heard, so sweet and passionate as 
to sink into the heart and stay there, a perfect memory 
wrung from days of mingled hope and despondency 1 


78 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


‘ The very person I wanted to see !’ cried a pleasant 
voice, and Mr. Villedieu, springing from his horse as she re- 
entered the road, begged permission to accompany her a 
little way. 

Norrice acquiesced coldly. Mr. Villedieu was all friend- 
liness and courtesy ; hoping, as he did, to represent Strawton 
in the next Parliament, it was evidently his business to J)e 
agreeable to everybody. Moreover, he took a prominent 
part in many social questions that interested her keenly. 
They had met in public places on terms of perfect equality. 
But by virtue of family and position, he belonged to a sphere 
quite apart from her own. She was a working woman, he 
an aristocrat. She had never been introduced to him in a 
drawing-room. 

For these reasons — foolish ones enough she acknow- 
ledged them to be — she drew back from, all but resented, 
any sign of interest on his part. 

She could see that she interested him, and, strange girl 
that she was, the fact repelled instead of flattering her ! 

M hear that you have an inventive turn — have even 
brought to perfection some valuable mechanical contrivances,’ 
he went on, leading his horse by her side. ‘ Can I be of 
any use to you in the matter ?’ 

Norrice’s pale cheeks flushed. She ought to feel pleased 
and grateful ; she knew that there was nothing in his speech 
that could possibly be misinterpreted to his disadvantage. 
It was well-meant, straightforward, kindly. For all that, she 
made curt, ungracious reply ; 

‘ I think not, thank you.’ 

He turned round sharply and scanned the girl’s clever, 
suggestive face, almost the only woman’s face that had ever 
magnetized him. He could hardly explain why, but there 


NORRICE^S EXTRA, 


79 


was something about this slender, shabby, sarcastic little 
mathematical teacher he found singularly attractive. She 
had marvellously beautiful eyes, a forehead betokening 
intellectual power far above the average ; and, to crown all, 
the acme, the quintessence of charm in his eyes — she was 
unreadable, mysterious. Sphinx-like. He felt that she was 
very difficult to understand, and for that very reason wanted 
to understand her. 

* You think not — ^you think not? Be quite sure about it,* 
he replied laughingly. 

‘ Will you try my flying-machine in Strawton market-place, 
then?’ Norrice said with a . mischievous smile. ^But no; 
our future member must not risk life or limb. I shall have 
to find humbler devotees of science.’ 

‘Is there no medium — no more modest service to be 
rendered?’ he asked, not ill-pleased with her raillery; it 
made intercourse all the easier. 

‘ Yes. There is a step between not obliging me at all, 
and hazarding your neck on my behalf. I want someone 
to buy my last invention blindfold for twenty thousand 
pounds.’ 

‘ I assure you I will — that is to say, the very moment I 
have twenty thousand pounds to spare. But, joking apart, 
do be careful. If you have really hit upon a marketable 
idea, there are scores of unscrupulous people ready to filch 
it from you. There is that rich old man yonder, for 
instance, Mr. Rapham. We have yet to learn how he came 
by his money ; and I fancy that he is a speculator still — 
much more likely, in fact, to get something out of us than 
we anything out of him.’ 

Again Norrice coloured with vexation. The morning’s 
interview came back — her own pitiful, pathetic pleadings ; 


8o 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


Mr. Rapham’s brutal rebuff. And to set against the remem- 
brance was another — spring coming after winter; Rapha’s 
sweet sisterly kindness atoning for her father’s acerbity. 
She could forgive, almost love, that stern host on his child’s 
account. With Rapha’s image before her mind’s eye, it was 
very painful to hear Mr. Rapham spoken ill of ; yet no words 
of apology rose to her willing lips — Mr. Villedieu said what 
he had to say. 

‘Pray exercise caution in dealing with strangers — Mr. 
Rapham, for instance. If I had invented anything, he is 
the very last person I should confide in.* 

How could he know that she had been to Strawton Park 
that very morning ? Too proud to ask, she merely replied : 

‘ If you had invented anything, you would most likely do 
as other inventors do — trust and mistrust at haphazard ; no 
more seeing straight before you than the crab walking back- 
wards.’ 

Then, by way of apologizing for the sarcasm, she thanked 
him for his good advice, pleaded haste, and, quitting the 
main road, took a side-street leading home. 


CHAPTER XII. 

CHARON AND MENIPPUS. 

In the meantime, placid as if awaiting the most delightful 
visitant in the world, with a serene brow and a smile on her 
lips, Mrs. Bee expected that knock so terrible to others — 
the knock of the landlady she could not pay. 

Her knitting lay on her knees ; but she had long neglected 


CHARON AND MENIPPUS, 


8i 


it for something much more engrossing. Spectacles ad- 
justed, and sitting near the window so as to have the full 
benefit of the light, she was reading and annotating an 
ancient book. It was a yellow-paged, dilapidated, much- 
thumbed volume in leather binding : one of those antiquated 
treasures occasionally to be picked up with old clothes, 
second-hand iron-ware, and other valuables at the Saturday 
market. Mrs. Bee had lately paid sixpence for an odd lot 
of books, of which this was one, and, as she justly observed, 

- alone worth three times the money. 

‘ Come in,’ she said blandly, as, true enough, soon came 
that determined, asserting, I’ll-stand-no-non sense rat-tat-tat, 
that would have made many a bolder heart sink. ‘Pray 
come in, dear Mrs. Apjohn. Pray be seated. I was so 
much interested in my book, that I had very nearly forgotten 
all about you.’ 

Mrs. Apjohn was very likely an admirable person in other 
relations of life, but she was a landlady — a landlady, more- 
over, of shabby-genteel, impecunious tenants. The mother, 
the neighbour, the church-goer seemed as hopelessly and 
irretrievably lost sight of under that exterior as the original 
writing of a palimpsest — some Sunday chronicle, perhaps — 
scrawled over with a notary’s bills ! Straight and square she 
stood, eyeing Mrs. Bee with a look of suspicion, command, 
and severe inquiry. She would have her money, whether 
Mrs. Bee had got it or no — that was what her face said. 

‘ Pray sit down,’ repeated Mrs. Bee, handing her visitor a 
* chair, and never loosing hold of her book. ‘For five 
minutes — just for five minutes !’ she urged. 

Mrs. Apjohn’s ponderous figure dropped sulkily into a 
chair, whilst never for a moment did she take that fixed, 
freezing gaze off her creditor’s unclouded countenance. 

6 


82 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


* Dear me !* Mrs. Bee cried, with happy unconcern, as, 
just pushing her spectacles on her forehead, she eyed her 
visitor curiously. ‘ Dear me ! how interesting it would be 
to take your portrait when you can’t get your rent and when 
you can, then to compare the two ! I have often wished it 
could be done. You have no idea how different you look !’ 

‘You would look different too, ma’am. I’ll be bound, if 
you had money owing to you in every direction, and couldn’t 
get a penny to pay your own way. But put off any longer I 
can’t and won’t be. If your rent is not paid to-day, I shall 
find another tenant for these rooms before this day week, as 
true as my name is Sarah Apjohn.’ 

‘ Just wait a minute ; just leave the rent one moment,’ 
Mrs. Bee said, placid as before, and readjusting her spec- 
tacles. ‘ I told you when you came in I had forgotten all 
about you, and no wonder. Books make me forget every- 
thing.’ 

‘ Books are all very well for those who can pay their way,’ 
Mrs. Apjohn said waspishly, rising from her chair. She 
began to fear that her worst misgivings were true, and that 
not a penny should she extract from her tenant that day. 
Her face was a veritable thunder-cloud. 

‘ Pray sit down,’ Mrs. Bee said ; ‘ it will only delay you a 
few minutes. We can settle business matters afterwards ; 
but I do want you to listen to what I was reading just now. 
It is so very amusing. It will make you feel as cheerful as 
if every one of your tenants had just paid their rent.’ 

Mrs. Apjohn’s expression now was of extreme scorn ; but* 
she was not wholly without education ; she appreciated it 
in others. She had no intention, therefore, of using violent, 
much less coarse, language to this shabby-genteel gentle- 
woman ; the weapons in reserve were of keener edge. Mrs. 


CHARON AND MENIPPUS. 83 

Bee might have her turn. Her own would come next. She 
sat eyeing the antiquated volume viciously. 

‘ It is odd how very d propos things sometimes happen in 
this world,’ Mrs. Bee went on. ‘ Now, I firmly believe that 
had I searched the country through, I should not have 
lighted upon anything in the shape of literature so appro- 
priate to the occasion as this. I must tell you it is a trans- 
lation from an old Greek author, and it is a story of some- 
body who ought to have paid a debt, and couldn’t. Now, 
how strange it is that such a condition of things existed from 
earliest times 1’ 

Mrs. Apjohn remained the embodiment of rigidjty and 
iciness. She felt that she had no longer a straw left to 
cling to. Mrs. Bee was penniless. Nevertheless, she sat 
and listened for the very best of reasons. Mrs. Bee would not 
let her stir an inch, or edge in so much as a syllable. 

‘ Of course you learned heathen mythology out of Mang- 
nall’s Questions at school,’ she went on. ‘You know who 
Charon was — the ferryman who conveyed the dead across 
the river Styx into the shades below ; for the ancients did 
not know what we do about heaven or hell, poor things ! 
How should they? They had a notion that this Charon 
took people as soon as the breath was out of their bodies 
into his boat, and, as I said just now, rowed them across a 
black river called the Styx, to the^f future abode, where he 
landed them ; but before doing so, every passenger had to 
pay him a penny — no, let me see, three-halfpence — yes, that 
is it, three-halfpence.’ 

The landlady still looked every inch the landlady. Her 
sternness was not in the faintest degree relaxed. She should 
carry out her threat. But, like the rest of us, she was glad 
to get anything for nothing, instruction into the bargain; 

6 — 2 


84 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


and this story of Charon and his boat and the black river 
struck her imagination. She had a mischievous, almost in- 
corrigible, grandson on her hands, a juvenile Tony Lump- 
kin. The next time he teased her cat, set the beer running, 
robbed her jam cupboard, and otherwise misconducted him- 
self, he should be frightened out of his wits by that fable of 
Charon and his boat. So she wanted to grasp it well — the 
beginning, the middle, and the end. 

‘ Of course everybody, even the poorest, might be ex- 
pected to pay three-halfpence,’ Mrs. Bee went on, ‘ and for 
such a service too, for who else would have ferried people’s 
ghosts across the Styx ? But one day — this is the story I am 
reading — one day comes a philosopher named Menippus, 
and when Charon has got him safely over, declares he 
hasn’t a farthing. “I’ll have my three-halfpence,” says 
Charon, “or you won’t land, that’s it.” “You can’t get 
blood from a stone. If I haven’t got it, I haven’t,” replies 
Menippus.’ 

Mrs. Bee for a moment laid down her book, and looked 
from under her spectacles. 

‘ This Menippus must have been a very facetious character 
as well as a wise man, you see, for of course, had he not en- 
joyed a joke, he would have borrowed the money from 
somebody or other before starting. But to go on. “ You 
haven’t ?” growled Charon. “ Do you think you can make 
me believe there is a human being without as much as 
three-halfpence?” .“What others have or have not, I know 
nothing about,” replied Menippus. “This I know, you 
won’t get three-halfpence out of me !” “ Oh, you are to be 
ferried across for nothing, are you ?” cries Charon. “ We’ll 
see about that.” So they wrangle and brangle; is it not 
amusing? “ I’ll wring your neck if you do not out with my 


CHARON ANb MENIPPUS, 


85 


three-halfpence,” says Charon. “ And I’ll break your skull 
with your own oar if you don’t leave me alone,” replies 
Menippus.’ 

Once more Mrs. Bee lowered her book, and glanced from 
under her spectacles. 

‘ Dear me,’ she said, with as much relish and nonchalance 
as if quarter-d^ys did not exist, ‘ how wonderfully some books, 
like some people, can amuse us, whilst others do nothing 
but make us yawn and twirl our thumbs ! This clever 
Menippus, how I should have liked to know him in real 
life ! Well, on they go again. “ You shan’t set fopt on 
land, then,” quoth Charon. “ What nonsense !” says 
Menippus. “What a precious storm in a tea-cup! You 
know as well as I do that if I haven’t three-halfpence, you 
may keep me here a thousand years and won’t be any the 
nearer.” “ Right is right, and justice is justice !” thunders 
Charon. “ Three-halfpence is my fee, and three-halfpence I 
shall get by fair means or foul.” “Then you must ferry me 
back to life again,” replies Menippus.’ Mrs. Bee here put in a 
word of explanation. ‘ Of course Charon couldn’t do that, 
and Menippus was well aware of it. Therein lay the gist of 
the joke. The Greeks, poor things, had no Moses and the 
prophets to guide them in theological matters, but one 
thing they knew as well as we do — when a man dies, he 
does not return to life again. So Menippus thought he had 
silenced Charon then. But not a bit of it. “Show me 
what you have carefully tied up in your bag,” he shouts. 
“ With the greatest possible pleasure,” retorts Menippus, and 

opening his bag, shows him what can you imagine ?— a 

quantity of broad-beans 1’ 

Even Mrs. Apjohn could rvot resist the cynic’s broad- 
beans ; she drew forth her pocket-handkerchief, and pre- 


86 


THE PARTING^OF THE WAYS. 


tended to be seized with a coughing fit. She was not an 
educated woman, but she had quick perceptions, and had 
picked up scraps of knowledge here and there. The irony 
of the fable came home to her, and its humour also. 

‘It seems that philosophers ate a good many broad- 
beans in those days,’ Mrs. Bee continued. ‘ I suppose it 
was a very inexpensive kind of food, but the sight of those 
beans, as you may imagine, only made Charon more furious 
than before. He can’t kill him, because he is dead already ; 
and he can’t go on jangling for ever, because so many others 
are waiting for him on the other side of the ferry. “ What 
am I to do with this fellow ?” he cries out to Mercury (you 
learned who he was in Mangnall’s, of course?). “All ihe 
while I was ferrying him across, he has done nothing but 
jeer and make fun of me, and won’t pay me my three-half- 
pence.” “ Oh, let him be,” says Mercury. “ He’s Menippus, 
the philosopher. You’ll get nothing out of him I’’ “ If ever 

I take you across again. I’ll be ” shouts Charon to 

Menippus, as he nimbly jumps out of the boat. “ Never 
fear,” is the philosopher’s parting joke. “ I’ve got over for 
nothing, but you won’t have a second job from me !” Now, 
who could help being amused over such a fable?’ asked 
Mrs. Bee, laying aside book and spectacles, and looking at 
her visitor as unconcernedly as if she were the penniless 
philosopher bamboozling the Stygian ferryman. ‘And I 
don’t know how you feel about such things, but I always 
find as many morals in them as there are flavours in a mince- 
pie. Do we not see here, for instance — for of course we 
must consider it real, something that has actually happened ; 
no story is worth the paper it is printed on, unless it makes 
us feel that — that hundreds and thousands of years ago, 
there were people situated just as we two are, debtors and 


CHARON AND MENIPPUS. 


87 


creditors, whether for three-halfpence, or three pounds, or 
thirty times as much ? And of course, in a certain sense, 
Menippus was right. No matter how small the sum, even 
if it is under Charon’s fee, if only a farthing — well, if you 
haven’t got it, nobody can get it out of you. That seems as 
clear as daylight to me.’ 

‘There are other things as clear, ma’am,’ put in Mrs. 
Apjohn, with an injured look. ‘ What folks can’t pay for, 
they must go without.’ 

‘ Just wait a moment— pray sit down again for five minutes,^’ 
Mrs. Bee went on, not in the least agitated, only argumenta- 
tive and emphatic. ‘You know, everybody knows, there 
are certain things people can’t go without. Menippus in the 
fable, he had to be ferried across the Styx ; it couldn’t be 
otherwise — the paying of Charon’s fee was a secondary con- 
sideration. Then again, everybody knows that whilst 
human beings are alive, they must live somewhere and on 
something — wait just five seconds, and you will see what I 
am driving at. Of course, my daughter and I could have had 
the money ready, even paid you in advance, had we gone 
without bare necessaries. You would never have wished us 
to do that — seen us starving before your very eyes ? Your 
heart would, I am sure, have been wrung by such a 
spectacle.’ 

‘My business is not with my lodgers’ circumstances,’ 
Mrs. Apjohn said, stiff as starch. She was rather alarmed at 
the numerous morals to be drawn from the fable of Charon 
and Menippus. Mrs. Bee having proved by inexorable 
logic that she could not pay her rent, might she not go a 
step farther and, like the philosopher in the story, equally 
prove that her creditor was bound to go without ? She rose 
and made for the door. 


88 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 


‘I have nothing more to say, ma’am,* she rejoined, 
rigidly obsequious. ‘You’ll please not forget’ 

‘ But I have not told you the great news yet,’ Mrs, Bee 
said briskly. ‘ Our circumstances — our prospects, I should 
say — have wholly changed within the last few hours. What 
a trifling incident may sometimes prove the turning-point in 
life ! My dear mother’s fortunes were made by picking up 
the muff of an earl’s daughter. Was it not curious ? The 
muff, a very valuable one, was dropped in a muddy road, 
and my mother, then a young girl, ran a quarter of a mile 
to restore it to the owner. The picking up of the muff led 
to her engagement as governess in a titled family, and she 
married the parish curate three years after ; not a fine match 
certainly, but better than none at all. My poor father 
brought up eleven children on a hundred and ten pounds a 
year, and life was a perpetual struggle ; but marriage is 
marriage, and women’s heads are always set on it, the wise 
as well as the foolish. With regard to ourselves. Do you 
know who was here just now? No one else but Miss 
Rapham, of Strawton Park ! We are to dine there next 
week. I feel sure our fortunes are as good as made.’ 

‘ I hope so ; I always wish well to a neighbour,’ Mrs. 
Apjohn said grimly, although this piece of information did 
give her a gleam of hope. 

‘ It is nothing short of providential,’ Mrs. Bee went on. 

‘ Everything is providential in life. I am more fully con- 
vinced of it than ever. Who could have supposed, for 
instance, that at this critical moment in our affairs, just when 
our fortunes are at the very lowest ebb, a perfect stranger 
should step in to the rescue ? We are to go to her dinner- 
party; that is the first move. Then Miss Rapham has 
promised to help my daughter about her inventions, which 


CHARON AND MENIPPUS. 89 

means buying them, of course. In fact, I do firmly believe 
that ere long we shall drive our carriage.* 

*And meantime, what about my rent?* asked Mrs. 
Apjohn. 

‘ Meantime, you cannot refuse to wait another week or 
two to see the turn affairs take. You see, under the circum- 
stances, we cannot in the least tell what a week, a day, an 
hour, may bring forth,’ Mrs. Bee said. ‘ One thing I promise 
you. If the next post brings a cheque for a hundred pounds, 
you shall be paid that very moment.’ 

Mrs. Apjohn sighed, fairly overcome by Mrs. Bee’s argu- 
ments and last startling items of news. The visit from the 
millionnaire’s daughter, the invitation to dinner at his house, 
did not pay her rent certainly, but they were facts suggesting 
payment. She seemed to hear the chink of gold in the 
distance. She consented to withdraw the notice to quit, and 
the same evening, Dickie the incorrigible, who had made 
away with the lodgers’ milk, and committed other depreda- 
tions in the larder, was dosed with the history of Charon 
and the black river, across which all the wicked are ferried, 
never, never more to behold daylight again ! Mrs. Apjohn 
had not obtained her money, but something perhaps as 
valuable — a perpetual nightmare with which to terrify into 
submission that dreadful boy 1 


90 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


CHAPTER XIIL 

HOME LIFE BY CONTRACT. 

Housekeeping by contract has one incontestable advantage 
over the ordinary system. The personal element, so annoy- 
ing to people of Mr. Rapham’s way of thinking, is here put 
an end to. We are under no obligation to inquire after our 
butler’s cold, or to affect sympathy at the loss of his grand- 
mother. On the other hand, we are free from that mild 
espionage which is apt to come into play even in the best- 
regulated households. Do what we will, we cannot hinder 
our Jeamses from unduly interesting themselves in our 
affairs. A certain amount of eavesdropping is not regarded 
as an offence by the best-trained footman or parlour-maid. 
Now, in an establishment conducted on the modern, the 
improved method, these little inconveniences are eliminated. 
Its very basis is impersonality. Our domestic staff is bound 
to remain strictly automatic, shorn of individuality, a con- 
glomerate body. As far as each official is concerned, idio- 
syncrasies are studiously kept in the background, whilst to 
our own concerns they are as indifferent as railways stokers 
to the family matters of the stationmasters all along the 
line. The way in which so happy a result is effected is 
this : no one stays in the same place for more than six 
months at a time. Here to-day, gone to-morrow, veritable 
wandering* Jews of civilization, these subalterns of a vast 
pacific army may, and doubtless do, enjoy a private life 


HOME LIFE BY CONTRACT, 


91 


of their own ; it no more comes to the surface than if 
they were the marble caryatides supporting the chimney- 
piece. 

This sumptuary arrangement exactly suited Mr. Rapham, 
for he had no sympathy to spare, and was particularly 
suspicious of paid subordinates. Were the thing possible? 
he would certainly have preferred real to fictitious automata, 
cunningly devised machines in human shape, like Vulcan’s 
golden handmaids and cup-bearers read of in Homeric 
story. 

The Allchere plan, however, was an undoubted step in 
the right direction, an enormous improvement on the old. 
TJie economic machine was kept going without any trouble 
or wrong to himself. He had only to supply the oil, and it 
was the business of others to look after the springs. His 
contract included not only assurance against fire, but 
burglary, housebreaking, and even assassination. Allchere 
and Company were under tremendously heavy obligations, 
first to prevent careless housemaids from dropping about 
lighted lucifer-matches, next to keep out nightly marauders 
with felonious intent. Mr. Rapham could therefore lay his 
head on his pillow without a care. Were his plate stolen, 
or his life attempted by housebreakers, the world-wide 
prestige of the universal contractor would be forfeited for 
ever. The great house of Allchere would be ruined past 
retrieval. 

What pleased him as much as any point about these 
internal arrangements was the feeling of not being listened 
to at dinner. By way of doubly insuring himself against 
impertinent curiosity, he had insisted on a slight divergence 
of the Allchere rules. The servants at Strawton Park were 
to be regularly changed once in three months, not twice a 


92 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


year as in other households managed by contract. He had 
made a further and apparently whimsical stipulation. One 
and all of the men employed indoors were to be slightly 
hard of hearing. As it is always easy, alas ! to find people 
afflicted with this calamity, Mr. Rapham’s wish was, of 
course, readily gratified. The Allchere rule, however, being 
to refuse a customer nothing, had he demanded a staff of 
servants gifted with such supernatural auricular powers that 
they could distinctly catch orders uttered a mile off, doubt- 
less his desire would have been as readily complied with. 
Mr. Rapham was of opinion — and perhaps others do not 
dissent from him — that the charm of a teie-d-tite talk consists 
in the fact of not being overheard. 

‘ I see that all the fine folks are looking us up,’ he saici, 
glancing towards Rapha with evident satisfaction. ‘ The 
invitation to Lady Letitia’s dance of course you will accept ?’ 

Rapha did not seem very enthusiastic. 

‘I can’t sit up late. That is the worst of it,’ added 
Mr. Rapham. ‘Don’t you think, with so many evening 
parties in prospect, I had better get Allchere to send us a 
chaperon ?’ 

‘ Lady Letitia says that chaperons are no longer necessary,’ 
Rapha replied ; ‘ especially in my case, that of a girl who is 
mistress of her father’s house.’ 

‘ Oh, that is all right ; Lady Letitia is sure to know,’ Mr. 
Rapham replied with a look of relief. ‘And I will ac- 
company you to her dance, anyhow; just give a look 
round, you know, and then drive home again. It will 
answer the same purpose as if I stayed altogether. I 
have been thinking, Rapha, Lady Letitia is just the good- 
natured kind of person to present you at Court next year, 
if we ask her.’ 


HOME LIFE BY CONTRACT. 


93 


That proposition struck Rapha as so preposterous that 
she could not control a hearty laugh. 

‘What you can find to laugh at, I don’t know,’ her 
father said, somewhat nettled. ‘ Of course you must go to 
the Drawing-room. Allchere says it is obligatory. But 
if you prefer it, when the time comes, we will go- to him 
for a chaperon instead of asking Lady Letitia. He supplies 
such things. And there is another matter. I promised 
you a hundred pounds as a birthday present. But I’ve 
changed my mind. I am going to buy you some diamonds 
instead. You know I am a judge of such matters, whereas 
if you took your hundred pounds to a jeweller, you are sure 
to be bamboozled.’ 

‘ Oh, papa !’ Rapha said, with a burst of girlish enthusiasm 
and sincerity. ‘ Do give me the hundred pounds to spend 
as I like ! I have plenty of ornaments already.’ 

‘What on earth do you want a hundred pounds for?’ 
asked Mr. Rapham, impatient, yet ever full of paternal pride 
and curiosity. 

This frank, joyous, spirited maiden, his own child, though 
sometimes he could hardly believe it, was as a book, each 
page revealing something new to him. 

‘ I want to help that poor young lady who came to you 
this morning with her invention.’ 

‘Confound the young lady!’ Mr. Rapham’s oaths were 
ever swallowed in Rapha’s presence. ‘Now, Rapha, as if 
women’s inventions were worth an empty beer-bottle ! They 
can invent readily enough with their tongue, I admit that. 
But what else — what else, pray ?’ 

‘ We can’t tell,’ Rapha said quickly. ‘ Half the great 
inventions of the world set down to men are very likely due 
to their wives. 


94 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


‘ On my word, you have an answer for everything. There 
is no getting over you,’ Mr. Rapham said, more delighted 
by her ready wit than he had been put out of countenance 
by her request. ‘ But I can’t let you fool away your money 
in that way. You want to go without jewels to-day to help 
some poor deluded creature who thinks she has set the 
Thames afire. To-morrow you will want to live on bread 
and water to help somebody else who has found a short-cut 
to the moon. No, my dear; charity begins and ends at 
home.’ Rapha looked crestfallen and unconvinced. ‘I 
will tell you what I will do to please you,’ Mr. Rapham 
said, after a pause. ‘I will look in at Miss — what’s her 
name ? — Wasp, wasn’t it ?’ 

‘No, Bee, papa.’ 

‘Well, Wasp is near enough, I am sure. I will, I say, 
just drop in and see what she has to show ; there can be 
no harm in that. And if any money is to be made out 
of her invention, I am as ready to make it as anyone 
else.’ 

‘To help her to make it, you mean, papa,’ Rapha 
said. 

‘Put it as you please, my dear. Suit yourself,’ Mr. 
Rapham replied, cracking one walnut after another with 
great enjoyment. The most temperate man in the world 
as far as eating and drinking went, there were yet a few 
things for which he had an immoderate liking, walnuts among 
these. ‘ Excellent nuts !’ he said. ‘ On my word, Allchere 
tables his customers in first-rate style ; there is no mistake 
about that. But I wish we could contract for a few items 
more — opinions, for instance. I would willingly pay fifty 
pounds a year to be voted for all round— at Parliamentary 
Elections, Town Councils, School Boards, and all’ 


HOME LIFE BY CONTRACT. 


95 


*It would be convenient, certainly,’ Rapha said, with 
forced gravity. 

‘It would be damned convenient — it would be mighty 
convenient, I meant to say,’ resumed Mr. Rapham. ‘Just 
think: I don’t care a straw who represents Strawton in 
Parliament or who doesn’t Why should I? I have to 
pay ray taxes, support the Royal Family, keep the country 
agoing all the same. A Radical or Tory Ministry is all 
one to me. I don’t care a halfpenny who sits on the 
School Board, either. How in the world should I ? We’re 
saddled with the School Board, and must pay for the School 
Board ; whether Churchmen or Methodists, Jews or Atheists, 
squabble over it, and spend their days in prating over it, is 
one and the same to me. Then there is the Town Council. 
I don’t feel a particle of interest in the Town Council. Why 
anyone should, I can’t conceive. Taking men in a lump, 
shaking them up in a sack, one makes as good an alderman 
as another. The difference between them is too slight to 
be worth mentioning. Now, if I could contract for the 
whole concern, the having to vote for this, that, and the 
other, say for fifty pounds a year, I should consider myself 
a gainer by the bargain.’ 

‘ What a pity I can’t do your voting for you 1’ Rapha said. 
‘ I should enjoy the excitement.’ 

‘Well, you can do my church-going for me,’ continued 
her father, complacently cracking another walnut. ‘ That is 
one comfort. I don’t think after fifty anyone should be 
expected to go to church under any pretext whatever. It 
stops the circulation in winter, and sends blood to the head 
in summer. I don’t mean to be stingy to the Church. It’s 
about the genteelest thing we have; but I can’t be preached 
to at my time of life by a young whipper-snapper of a curate. 


96 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


with nothing but a little book-learning in his noddle. 
the way, I have seen several of« our acquaintances to-day. 
.Mr. Villedieu, for one. He wants me, of course, to back 
him up in the forthcoming election. Not I.’ Mr. Rapham 
here gave Rapha a knowing look, and added, ‘ Unless you 
have taken a fancy to him ? He will succeed to his uncle’s 
title, they say. He may be Lord Alvanley some day. That 
is the kind of man I should like you to marry, my dear.’ 

Rapha coloured, and smiled. 

‘Now,’ Mr. Rapham went on, still with that keen, fox- 
eyed eagerness of glance, ‘ as I have just said, I don’t care 
a fig for politics. Were all the public men in the kingdom 
sent to Siberia, it would be one and the same thing to me ; 
and I dare say the country would fare no worse. Half a 
dozen fellows paid moderately well for the work would 
make as good laws as those passed in the House of Commons. 
The thing could be done by contract — by Allchere and 
Company, for instance ; I am sure they would govern the 
country well enough ! But if you like the look of Mr. 
Villedieu, I would put my hand in my^ pocket. I would 
help him through.’ 

Deeper and deeper grew Rapha’s blushes. Her father’s 
openness seemed a rebuke. She felt conscience-smitten at 
her own reticence concerning Silverthorn. Yes ; she must — 
she ought to speak out. The servants had now left the 
room. Moving to her father’s side, she put one hand 
caressingly within his arm. 

‘Why should I want to leave you — to marry anyone, 
papa?’ she said, looking up at him with appealing fondness. 
‘ My proper place is here.’ 

He seemed pleased, even touched by this show of affec- 
tion, yet would have his say out 


HOME 1,1 FE BY CONTRACT, 


97 


* I am an old man, my dear. Sixty is old, when a man 

has spent the best part of his days in the Tropics. Besides, 
a husband a son-in-law of the right sort — need not separate 
us. We could all remain under one roof — at least, for a 
time. The thing is to see you settled ; to find someone to 
take care of you and of your money when I am gone. Now, 
suppose— suppose that Villedieu should make advances ! 
He is mighty civil ; I think there is Something in the wind. 
Suppose, I say ’ 

* Papa,’ Rapha said, laying her cheek against his arm, ‘ I 

do not want to marry at all — that is to say, for years to 
come. But ’ 

‘ Oh ! of course, there are ‘‘ buts.” I expected that,’ he 
replied, fondling her in a rough, shy way. ‘ Mr. Villedieu 
should be younger, or his hair is not of the right colour. 
We won’t quarrel about him before we’ve got him. And 
we won’t spend money about him before we have got him, 
either ; trust me to throw my good money after bad. We 
will look around us awhile — see which way the wind blows. 
Then there is Silverthorn. I met him in town, also, to-day. 
Uncommonly civil, he was. Would like well enough to 
have you himself, I dare say. There is no accounting for 
some people’s impudence. Why he is so — so vastly civil, 
passes my comprehension.’ 

Rapha had chosen that fond, playful attitude with the 
full intention of confiding in her father. She would, for 
once and for all, tell him of the understanding that existed 
between her and her old science-master. Mr. Rapham’s 
blunt utterances checked the growing confidence. Every 
word that now fell from her father’s lips seemed an insult to 
one who was single-mindedness itself. 

‘ I suppose, like others, he does not object to a good 

7 


98 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 

dinner whenever he can get it for nothing ?’ Mr. Rapham 
went on. ‘He is very welcome.' I have nothing to say 
against him, so long as he does not begin to pay court to 
my daughter. He had better not try that game, I can tell 
him. And another acquaintance, too, I met to-day — Mr. 
Day j no, Mr. Morrow. What queer names people have in 
these parts, to be sure ! This Mr. Day — I mean Mr. 
Morrow — doesn’t want you, I dare say ; he’s old enough to 
be your father. But he wants me — that is to say, my 
money. I can see that well enough, although he asked me 
for nothing point-blank. He was harping all the time upon 
the distress in the town, as if I had caused the distress ! 
What is other people’s distress to me? Each man must 
look out for himself nowadays. And if he keeps his own 
head above water, that is the best thing he can do, both for 
the Queen and the country. You see,’ he went on, evidently 
seeming to think that Rapha stood in need of a little en- 
lightenment as to political economy, ‘the wiseacres who 
preach about giving away, and the addlepates who listen to 
them, only see an inch beyond their own noses. Look at 
the immense deal of good I do by the money I keep in 
circulation, simply by minding my own business, and 
spending on my own necessities 1 If ever there was a bene- 
factor of his kind, a philanthropist to the backbone, it is 
myself. Don’t I give away several thousands a year, or do 
what amounts to the same thing, when I keep going such an 
establishment as this ? Give away as much as you like, say 
I ; but never fail to get your money’s worth in return. I 
pay a score of men and women servants, say ; well, as there 
are thousands who cannot get work, it is just as good as 
almsgiving— the same thing precisely. Your friend Mr. 
Day — I mean Mr. Morrow — may come to me with his face 


ESAU*S MESS AND ROBIN GRAY, 


99 


a yard long. I am not going to pauperize the country with 
money I have worked hard for ; and were everyone to know 
what he is about, and the rights and the wrongs of the 
matter, and act accordingly, there isn’t a tatterdemalion in 
the country who wouldn’t be comfortably cracking walnuts 
as I am doing now.* 


CHAPTER XIV. 

ESAU’S MESS AND ROBIN GRAY. 

A DAY or two after this conversation Mr. Rapham drove in 
his sulky to Strawton, and putting up at the market inn, set 
out in search of Norrice Bee. He found the town un- 
usually alert and hilarious. All the inhabitants seemed 
abroad; alike the well-befurred and the out-at-elbow were 
wending their way to the public hall, much as if some 
stump-orator or wild-beast show had just arrived for their 
diversion. 

Bitter as was the weather, and November had set in with 
iron frost and cutting winds, people looked gay, animated, 
even jovial. The general aspect cf the streets was one of 
unmitigated cheerfulness. The fact was, the winter charities 
for which Strawton was famous were to be inaugurated 
to-day by the first of those free dinners provided several 
times a week from November till March. 

When Mr. Rapham, curious to see what was going on, 
made his way through the crowd and peeped inside the hall 
and glanced round, a strange sight met his eyes. 

A denizen dropped from a neighbouring planet must 

7—2 


lOO 


THE PARTING OF THE WA YS. 


have supposed that the good townsfolk were preparing for the 
passage of an army of defence, so tremendous the pre- 
parations, so patriotic the zeal displayed. Well-dressed 
ladies and gentlemen were scurrying to and fro, all wearing 
white aprons, whilst stretching from end to end of the vast 
hall were deal tables and benches for the accommodation of 
the guests. A visitor, however, from the planet Jupiter, or 
any globe better managed than our own, must have felt 
some pangs of humiliation mixed with his pity and admi- 
ration at the sight that followed. Delightful as it was, 
certes, to see the benevolent spirit actuating those amateur 
cooks and waitresses, as stream after stream of the famished 
took their seats, yet how painful to reflect that after six 
thousand years of civilization, the half of humanity in a 
highly advanced state like our own should be brought to 
such a pass — to be dependent on cheap victuals, the gift of 
charity, for just keeping body and soul together ! 

To the philosophic observer of life, the moral of such a 
spectacle can but be mortifying in the extreme. 

Mr. Rapham’s feelings were of sheer amusement as he 
watched the scene. 

There was Lady Letitia Lowfunds and her daughters, 
shabbily dressed, amiable, unwooed girls of all ages, de- 
lighted to be busy. There was Mr. Morrow, just now too 
happy to be shy, as, in white cap and apron, hd ladled out 
the soup to the bevy of smiling damsels around him — a 
very engaging chef indeed, thought Lady Letitia; and, 
oh dear me, what a comfortable son-in-law, were he not 
a manufacturer 1 Then there were vicars and curates, 
Nonconformist ministers and their ladies, one and all 
fraternizing together in a manner gratifying to witness. 

Even the stellar critic above-mentioned, descended, we 


ESAU*S MESS AND ROBI.^ GRAY, 


loi 


will suppose, from a planet on which starvation is unknown, 
might find consolation here. We may go to the length of 
conceiving some kindly Mother Earth that nourishes all her 
children. But who can imagine a world in which everyone 
thinks alike ? 

To-day, not only were theological and political, but even 
social, distinctions kept out of sight. Lady Letitia’s daughters 
flirted mildly with Mr. Morrow. The Vicar chatted amicably 
with his Methodist rival. The Radical linen-draper was 
hail-fellow-well-met with the Tory tailor ; as to the curates, 
a veritable vertigo seemed to possess them. They were 
hobnobbing with everyone, cracking jokes with their rectors, 
quite flippant in their exhilaration. 

Mr. Rapham was perhaps the only bystander present who 
had not subscribed a farthing to the fraternal banquet. He 
had so ostentatiously declared it his intention not to give 
from the beginning, that in consequence nobody had asked 
him to do so now. But as he surveyed the curious scene 
he determined to send in a subscription, and for an oddly 
inconsequent reason. 

‘All this would divert Rapha mightily,’ he said, as he 
turned away. ‘And bring her into good company, too. I 
had no idea that giving away was so genteel. Yes, I’ll send 
’em a trifle ; a pound or so.’ 

Just then Mr. Villedieu caught sight of him; and came 
up with a frank, engaging smile. The rich trader amused 
him, but he ever contrived to keep his amusement in the 
background. 

‘ Come, Mr. Rapham,’ he said, * do sit down with me and 
taste the soup. I never give a penny till I test a thing, and 
I have promised five shillings down if the soup is fit for 
human beings to eat’ 


102 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


Now, although Frederick Villedieu was a poor man, he 
had promised to give five pounds. That mention of the. 
five shillings was made by. way of a joke. 

Mr. Rapham, however, took it in all seriousness. If 
another man could give five shillings, so could he. The 
offer of the soup was accepted willingly. He was feeling 
hungry, and it would be a saving. Allchere and Company 
did everything in first-rate style, but their luncheons per 
head were somewhat expensive. He never took luncheon 
at home, even when feeling hungry, if he could help it. 

The two men retired to a side-table, and Villedieu himself 
fetched the two basins of soup. They broke their bread 
into it, and began to eat. 

‘ On my word, very good soup indeed !’ Villedieu said. 

‘ I wish I knew where to get as good in town for a penny a 
help. What an economy it would be f 

Mr. Rapham, who was rather in a hurry, emptied his 
plate before replying. 

‘ I can tell you of a place where you can lunch as well as 
any man wants to do for sixpence,' he said. ‘ Ah, I have 
the address on a card somewhere.' 

He brought out his note-case, and produced the card ; 
then opening his purse, laid down five shillings. 

‘You are on the committee, I dare say; anyhow, will you 
give this donation for me ?’ he said. ‘ I should like to send 
my daughter to assist at the next distribution. I think it 
would divert her.' 

‘Pray do. We shall all welcome Miss Rapham; and 
thank you much for your handsome subscription,' Villedieu 
replied, picking up the money with the utmost gravity. 

‘ I am not for giving away my shirt, much less my skin,* 
Mr. Rapham said. ‘ But I don’t object to bestow a trifle 


ESAU’S MESS AND ROBIN GRAY, 103 

when it is a duty owed to society. Good-day to you, 
sir.’ 

‘Not at all bad, that. soup, and I was feeling really 
hungry,’ he said to himself as he walked away. ‘ I have 
done a good stroke of business ! Quit of my charities for 
less than the cost of one of Allchere’s tip-top luncheons, and 
my meal got into the bargain.’ 

‘Mr. Rapham, Mr. Rapham !* chirped Mrs. Bee, ‘how 
condescending of you to come; and what a mercy my 
daughter and I were not helping with the free dinners !’ 

‘Free dinners indeed, ma’am!’ ejaculated Mr. Rapham, 
glancing round the poorly-furnished room. ‘ Leave free 
din nets to those who are half killed with repletion at home. 
That’s a piece of advice I give you for nothing.’ 

‘ And good advice too,’ Mrs. Bee said, with the old- 
fashioned feeling that a millionnaire ought not to be contra- 
dicted. ‘ Giving away when you can really afford it must 
thrill the mind with the most delightful sensation of which it 
is capable.* 

Mr. Rapham made an odd grimace. The utterance of 
such sentiments as these affected him much as the sight of 
some foolhardy exploit affects others. ‘What idiots folks 
are for their pains !’ we say, when we see them set off on a 
walking tour round the world, try to cross Niagara in a tub, 
or to live without bite or sup; like the show-fasters, for 
thirty-four days I 

‘ I have come to see your daughter. Ah, here she is 1’ 

He did not feel called upon to apologize for his former 
roughness. A man always up to his ears in business cannot 
be expected to stand too much upon ceremony. 

‘Now, young lady,’ he began, ‘we won’t waste any time. 
You know as well as I do that inventions seldom or never 


104 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


pay. I don’t mean to say that yours may not be the most 
wonderful in the world. No doubt you think so, and it is 
quite right that you should. What I mean to say is this : 
you have ninety-nine hundred to a thousand chances against 
you. Now you’ve heard, I dare say, of the story of the Jew 
— in the Old Testament, isn’t it ? — who lost the pound of 
creditor’s flesh he had bargained for, because he had made 
no mention of the drop of blood. Well, an inventor is in 
the case of that Jew. When he makes his bargain — that is 
to say, when he describes it for his patent — he is sure to 
leave out the most important point, the drop of blood, and 
so forfeit his pound of flesh. There is always some quibble 
for the wary to lay hold of, some flaw in his blue-book which 
makes it not worth the paper it is printed on. Then, again, 
suppose all is right so far. How can he ever feel sure that he 
has not been forestalled ? He may fancy himself perfectly 
safe, when, on a sudden, someone who wants to set up in 
the same concern ferrets out a patent for the selfsame thing 
— brought out maybe at St. Petersburg, maybe at New 
York, ’tis all one to him. He may go to the poor-house 
for all anybody cares.’ 

‘ That is what I am always saying to my daughter,’ Mrs. 
Bee put in. ‘ We are really certain of nothing but what we 
have in our mouths, and not sure that that is what it pre- 
tends to be. But with regard to Shylock the Jew, you 
mentioned just now — excuse me for observing — is it not in 
Shakespeare instead of the Bible ?’ 

^ Where you please, ma’am. I am up in neither. I am 
not a bookish man. Where you please,’ was his answer. 

Norrice’s pale, thoughtful face had flushed with vexation 
during the trader’s speech. She could not find it in her 
heart to behave uncourteously to Rapha’s father ; but this 


ESAU’S MESS AND ROBIN GRAY, 


105 


ruthless scattering of her breams, and crushing of her 
brightest hopes, was almost more than she could bear. 

‘ Now,’ Mr. Rapham began again, ‘ I don’t for a moment 
believe that there is a penny to be made by your invention. 
You have there my honest opinion ; but to gratify my 
daughter, who has taken a great fancy to you, I have just 
stepped in to see what you have got ; and if it is anything 
worth mentioning, I will do the thing handsomely. I will 
buy it outright for a hundred pounds in hard cash.’ 

While Norrice’s sensitive features expressed very mixed 
feelings, Mrs. Bee could hardly find words in which to pour 
out her joy. 

A hundred pounds ! They would not be enabled to set 
up a carriage on the strength of it, certainly, but the land- 
lady could be paid, all other claims cleared off, and the new 
year begun without a farthing of debt. She looked even 
more cheerful than when expounding the fable of Charon 
and Menippus. 

‘ Of course, Norrie, you will accept. I should think so, 
indeed ! and I am sure it is very kind and Christian-like of 
Mr. Rapham to come to our relief,’ Mrs. Bee continued. 

‘ People can, of course, live upon next to nothing with a 
little management. I always insist upon that ; but there is 
all the difference in the world between nothing and some- 
thing. And this hundred pounds will be a fortune— super- 
abundant wealth to us ; as good as ten thousand pounds — a 
million, if you come to that. When you only need ten 
pounds, why cry your eyes out because you have not twenty? 
But now, Norrie, do take Mr. Rapham to your workshop, 
and settle the business then and there.’ 

Poor Norrice’s irresolute, hesitating mood contraste 1 
more and more with her mother’s exhilaration ; but how 


io6 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 

could she refuse ? Her mind was painfully torn by conflict- 
ing desires. She wanted to appear courteous, even grateful, 
to Rapha’s father ; she wanted to lighten her mother’s cares. 
But could she part with her beloved invention on such terms 
as these ? — sell her birthright as Esau had done for a mess 
of pottage ? — sacrifice her own existence to sordid needs of 
the hour, as did the Scotch girl who wedded Robin Gray, 
whilst her Jamie was at sea ? Pale, unable to utter a word 
in self-defence, she conducted her visitor upstairs, and 
showed him her invention. 

But with what different feelings to those of a few days 
back! She had displayed her treasure to Rapha proudly 
and ecstatically as Benvenuto Cellini unveiled his Perseus 
before ducal patrons. The glow of creative triumph 
vanished now. She looked more like some poor, heart- 
broken mother who is parting with her child to foster- 
parents for its own worldly advancement, to share her own 
humble future, even to bear her own name, no more. 

‘ Good,’ said Mr. Rapham, with an air of visible satisfac- 
tion. ‘We will waste no words. Your invention, like 
every other, of course, promises to turn the world upside 
down ; whether, commercially speaking, it is worth a three- 
penny-piece is a wholly different matter. That is neither 
here nor there. As I said before, to please my daughter, I 
will give you a hundred pounds for it.’ 

Norrice did then summon courage to say . 

‘ Would you give me a smaller sum, say the half, and let 
me remain in part the owner of my invention?’ 

‘ Look you, young lady,’ Mr. Rapham replied sharply, ‘I’m 
too busy and too old to enter into such bargains now. 
Were I a young man, the case would be altered. If you 
accept my offer I shall just put the matter into the right 


ESAU'S MESS AND ROBIN GRAY, 


107 


hands, and there will be an end of it, as far as I am con- 
cerned. Suppose — we might as well suppose that the world 
will come to an end to-morrow ; it may, for aught we know, 
but it is not very likely. Suppose, I say, that your machine 
does turn out a trump-card — well, you must trust to my 
generosity.* 

Now, for Mr. Raphamto bid anyone trust to his generosity 
was the cruelest irony. Those but slightly acquainted with 
him must feel that the chance of winning a .lottery-ticket 
must be set down as a mathematical certainty by com- 
parison. Norrice, however, felt passive, resistless, out of 
heart. Had she been alone in the world, she would sooner 
have faced direst need and privation than make the sacrifice. 
But she knew well what a hundred pounds would be to her 
mother, and how solely that poor mother had been tried. 
There, conspicuous, was Mr. Rapham’s cheque magnetizing 
her in one direction; there was her invention — her very 
life, her all in all. She did not hold out her hand to take 
the missive, but felt powerless to struggle against temptation 
any longer. 

‘ I don’t want to take advantage of any man, or woman 
either,’ Mr. Rapham said. ‘ Talk the matter over with your 
mother, and I’ll call again.’ He was about to replace the 
draft in his pocket, then thrust it in her hand instead. ‘ No 
— just take this piece of paper, anyhow. I'here is no harm 
in that ; and if you decide to pocket it, then meet iiie to- 
morrow at noon in the City — here is the address — and 
bring your invention and description with you.’ 

He then hurried downstairs and out into the street, hardly 
giving himself time to reply to Mrs. Bee’s exuberant ex- 
pressions of delight and gratitude. 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


loS 


CHAPTER XV. 

A GOOSE FOR A FORTUNE. 

* Really/ Mrs. Bee replied, as she watched the neat, wiry 
little figure in brown disappear — ‘ really, a charming man ; 
how could you find fault with him, Norrie? But then 
nothing in the male way ever does satisfy you. What you 
expect men to be, I am at a loss to imagine. Archangels 
at the very least, I suppose. And so open-handed too, so 
trusting, to give a hundred pounds in hard cash for a thing 
that may never bring him a farthing ! But now, listen. I 
have not been idle whilst you were upstairs. I have been 
pencilling down what we owe and what we absolutely want ; 
and I find that when all is paid, we shall have exactly four- 
teen pounds, four shillings, and fourpence halfpenny, we 
shall not know what to do with.’ 

Norris glanced at her mother’s strip of paper as indifier- ^ 
ently as she had just before glanced at the rich man’s 
cheque. Mr. Rapham’s missive she now laid — rather let it 
fall— on the table, where it lay, as tempting to Mrs. Bee as 
the apple to Eve. 

‘ We can, of course, put the remainder in the bank,’ Mrs. 
Bee resumed, ‘ or, what I am more disposed to do, we can 
put by ten pounds, and with the odd money buy you a red 
silk dress. It would exactly suit you ; and with these 
grand parties coming on, you must have something of the 
kind.’ 


A GOOSE FOR A FORTUNE, 


109 


Once more her vision was attracted by the cheque. 

‘Well, we need not trouble our heads about the fourteen 
pounds, fourteen shillings, and fourpence halfpenny. We 
can let that rest for the present. The main thing is to pay 
the rent — I have reckoned half a year’s in advance — the 
other little bills, and purchase the coals. And don’t you 
think I had better trot off to the bank at once ? it closes at 
three, you know ’ 

So saying, she took out her purse, and moving towards 
the table, just touched the tiny piece of paper barred with 
red. She was on the point of putting it in her purse when 
Norrice interposed, flushed and trembling with agitation. 

‘ Mamma !’ she cried, do give me a little time to reflect. 
If I accept Mr. Rapham’s offer, my invention belongs to 
him and not to me. I will get money for the rent and the 
coals somehow, only give me time.’ 

‘ Of course you must do as you like,’ Mrs. Bee said, not 
in the least ruffled, not in the least reproachful, but, Norrice 
could see that well enough, for once out of heart. Had her 
mother insisted, had she showed temper, had she tried to 
exercise maternal authority, the girl’s spirit would have risen. 
That pathetic ‘ Of course you must do as you like,’ that 
patient letting go cf the cheque, and the Icok of care sud- 
denly overspreading the placid, gentle face, Norrice could 
not bear. She knew, too, that in spite of Mrs. Bee’s cheer- 
ful theories about imagining everything you cannot get, and 
setting down unattainable necessaries as out of date and 
extras, prolonged struggle and privation were telling upon 
her elastic constitution and contented mind. Her mother 
often looked wan and pinched ; yes, she really suffered from 
bodily deprivation ; she needed more warmth, more nourish 
ment, more comfort generally. 


no 


THE PARTING OF THE WA YS. 


This conviction so wrought upon Norrice’s mind that she 
had now no more power of resistance left. With swelling 
heart and painfully concealed tears, she thrust the fatal piece 
of paper, as she regarded it, into Mrs. Bee’s hand, and 
ejaculated in a voice of feigned hilarity, ‘ You are right, ever 
right, mammy. So trot off to the bank, and buy the red 
silk dress on your way home she added, with a further 
effort to conceal her despair, ‘and a pair of silk stockings to 
match, with gold clocks — don’t forget’ 

Then, not trusting herself to say a single word more, she 
put on bonnet and shawl, and sought the fallow fields and 
the skylarks. To-day, alas ! all seemed changed. There 
were the same wide horizons, the same sweep of open country 
around, and clear heavens above ; as will, however, some- 
times happen in life, not only with regard to human affec- 
tions, but natural objects, the familiar, the ever trusted, the 
hitherto unfailing, for once betrays us. We are met face to 
face with a desertion all the more unbearable because it is 
so unexpected ; the very grass and blue heavens will surely 
fail us next 

To-day, Norrice gazed on no dimpled hills, brown in 
shadow, golden under the sun-rays — no windy sweep, over 
which drive the swift, changeful, buoyant clouds ; instead, 
she saw a bare, dull, dispiriting landscape, unsuggestive and 
ugly as the town itself. Sullen and birdless the leaden 
canopy above, dreary and monotonous the dull gray world 
below. Could spring ever waken it, summer beautify it? 
And as full of despair seemed her own life. 

Norrice continued her walk, nevertheless ; for the exercise 
invigorated her, and the solitude was very soothing. Except 
for a shepherd driving his flock home, she had skies and 
fields all to herself. 


A GOOSE FOR A FORTUNE. 


HI 


And as she strolled along, the passion of grief passed, and 
the fortitude born of despair took possession of the young 
inventress’s soul. She said to herself that she was not the 
first to be tried thus ; how many t)thers, how many worthier 
than herself, had seen the first-fruits of their endeavours, the 
handsel of their intellects, wrested from them, their harvests 
reaped by alien hands, themselves left in oblivion, and oft- 
times want ! Could she expect to escape the ills that in 
some shape or other afflict humanity ? Would she exchange 
her own lot, hard although it might be, for that of so many 
others far more fortunate in worldly things ? She had, at 
least, her work to do in the world, and already had accom- 
plished a part of it. Was not that something, nay, every- 
thing, when you go a little deeper than the primitive, un- 
remunerative necessities of human life ? 

She turned her face homeward, not comforted, not cheered, 
yet soothed and braced up for the supreme sacrifice. She 
would at once get the worst over, pack up her invention, 
and see that there was no flaw in her specification. Then 
she would try to think no more of the matter. With lagging 
steps and downcast face, she re-entered the house, and 
ascended the little staircase — hitherto, a ladder to airiest 
hope and joyful upbuoyance ; to-day, to gloom, as of some 
death-chamber of a beloved one. 

Again and again, in spite of the severe schooling she had 
just given herself, bitter tears rushed to her eyes ; again and 
again she put back her treasure, saying she could not do this 
thing. But daughterly affection and stoical resolve pre- 
vailed. With a pale face and compressed lips, she now set 
to work — for her tears hardly being able to take a last look 
at it — and deftly packed her invention, the nursling of her 
thoughts, the child of her hopes. 


II2 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


When once this part of her sacrifice was accomplished, 
the rest seemed easy. She now went carefully over her 
specification to assure herself that all was right ; then, for 
once having had her fill of solitude, went downstairs. An 
extraordinary atmosphere of bustle and acquisition reigned 
in the little parlour. To poor Norrice, it was as if a legacy 
had befallen the household ; and no one had a tear for the 
bequeather but herself. The room was literally piled with 
purchases; but in the gloaming only one object met her 
eyes. This was an enormous goose, ready for spitting, that 
shone out conspicuous from a variety of objects, darker of 
hue and less accentuated as to form. 

The sight of that goose, and the suggestions it called forth, 
appealed to Norrice’s sense of humour. Wrung to the 
heart as she had been by the events of the last few hours, a 
new mood of reckless, fitful gaiety took possession of her. 
She felt that the only way not to cry was to laugh. Putting 
her arm round her mother’s waist, she made her waltz round 
the room, singing gaily : 

‘ There’s a good time coming, boys— 

A good time coming.’ 

‘ I don’t wonder you feel in such spirits,’ Mrs. Bee said. 
‘ I should have done so at your age ; but now I take things 
as they come. A hundred thousand pounds would not 
make me feel in the least bit different. But how slow the 
people are to send my purchases ! Ah ! you are looking at 
the goose! I don’t care in the least about eating and 
drinking; but if there is one thing I have in the faintest 
degree a partiality for, it is a fat goose. There is no non- 
sense, no mistake about it. The splendid savour, too, it 
sends through the house, and up and down the street! 


A GOOSE FOR A FORTUNE. 


113 

Everybody knows as well as if you had told them that you 
are having a goose for dinner ; and if that doesn’t testify to 
your means and respectability in life, what does-^what does, 
I should very much like to know ?’ She looked round with 
a complacent air, and proceeded with her enumeration ; 
‘ Then there is the coal-scuttle ! If there is one thing you 
really cannot imagine, it is a coal-scuttle ; and our old one 
has, I am sure, done its duty, with its pasteboard bottom, 
these two years, and the coals always tumbling through from 
the top of the stairs to the bottom, making everyone jump. 
And the new boiler — look at that ! You remember, we lost 
the top in our last moving ! It is tiresome how useless 
things are without tops and bottoms ; but so it is. Then 
there is the blotting-paper, and the mustard, and the blankets 
— all luxuries, certainly, but very convenient. And — but 
here comes the draper’s boy with your gown-piece. Is it 
not a bargain ? — real Lyons silk, and the colour of a ripe 
tomato — nothing so becoming to your complexion by candle- 
light. But you are wanting your tea, I dare say ; and the 
cake and the muffins haven’t come yet. Ah ! here comes 
the boy, sure enough ; and another ring — that must be the 
coals. Just run down with the key and a light — ah ! no ; it 
is the shoes. After all that may be said and done, there is 
no comfort in the world like being well shod. It doesn’t 
matter a straw what you wear on your head ; but whatever 
the Darwinites may say to the contrary, it is shoe-leather that 
precludes the possibility of monkey-descent, shoe-leather 
that proclaims the moral being. How can anyone hold up 
his head, as an intellectual creature should, unless he is well 
shod ? You see, it is the brain that directs, but the foot 
that conducts ; and that is, I am sure, why the French are 
so clever in many ways— so superior a people — their shoes 

8 


1 14 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 

always fit so beautifully, and are one of the first considera- 
tions in life. Another ring ! Well, really, I thought we had 
got everything by this time ! Ah ! I had forgotten the 
patent medicines and the wadding. I have been so long 
without any medicines 'in the house, that it will be the 
greatest possible comfort to have them to go to ; I shall be 
fancying all kinds of aches and pains for the pleasure of 
doctoring myself. And then the wadding — you may smile 
at seeing that enormous pile of wadding ; but I am always 
in terror lest anybody in the house should be burnt or 
scalded without any wadding to wrap the poor thing in at 
once ! Well, now really I think we have all ; so we will 
toast the muffins, and sit down to tea comfortably.* 


CHAPTER XVI. 

MR. RAPHAM’s D^BUT IN SOCIETY. 

Mr. Rapham’s appearance in polite society was by no 
means vulgar, rather a piquant singularity, an engaging 
phenomenon in the eyes of fashionable lookers-on. The 
half-savage Muscovite sovereign, Peter the Great, at the 
elegant French Court of Louis XV., hardly wore a more out- 
landish look. Even the stereotyped evening dress of the 
English gentleman, which he condescended to wear, did not 
in the least detract from the od'dity of his appearance. 
Shrunken, beardless, without an ounce of superfluous flesh on 
his body, his small, spare, active form recalled the portraits 
of African explorers— -men whose lives have been for the 


MR. RA PH A M'S DEBUT IN SOCIETY, 


*5 


most part hidden from civilization, who have been exposed 
to all kinds of perils, scorched by the fiery sun of the desert, 
at last unearthed and brought back to a new world, them- 
selves more astonishing than their mirific adventures. 

He had that keen, intensely alive look of one accus- 
tomed to mistrust everybody and everything about him, 
and to feel that snares may await him at every step. His 
bright, vivacious eyes — ^all that the observer noticed, all that 
one seemed to see of the small withered face — with furtive 
glance evidently took in not only what was passing im- 
mediately within their focus, but around, behind as well as 
before, and on either side. 

Mr. Rapham never tried to put the slightest gloss on his 
personal appearance, or in any degree to fall into the ways 
of genteel society. The sole sacrifice he made to conven 
tionalism was to refrain from unseemly jokes or the ejacula- 
tion of an oath. For the rest, he remained perfectly natural, 
priding himself indeed upon being a rough man, but every 
bit as good as his neighbours. 

‘ Tis all very well for folks to boast of their fine manners 
when they have nothing else to bless themselves with,’ he 
said to Rapha ; ‘ but, bless your soul ! when a man is known 
to be a moneyed man, the world isn’t so dirty particular as 
to his behaviour. And manners — well, who would give a 
five-pound note for the finest bow in the world i” 

The professional talker had not been engaged for the 
first dinner-party, after all. Rapha urged that with two such 
talkers to be depended on as Villedieu and Silverthorn, such 
an addition was unnecessary. A master of ceremonies had 
been sent down for the occasion, that was all. As Allchere 
and Company wrote, if any little hitch occurred in the pro- 
ceedings, their client had only to apply to him. Suppose, 

8—2 


ii6 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


for instance, that an awkward pause ensued during the dinner, 
this functionary had an infinite number of resources at com- 
mand, happy little expedients sure to loosen tongues and 
awaken geniality. He would suddenly turn off the gas, for 
instance. That was an unfailing remedy for stiffness and 
silence. The ladies would become alarmed, the gentlemen 
try to reassure them ; by the time the gas was turned on 
again, everybody would be in the happiest spirits, and the 
most timid have some story to tell of a similar mishap. 

Another device, equally diverting, was also an effectual 
remedy for constraint and lagging talk. This was for the 
master of the ceremonies, who stood behind the host’s chair, 
to drop suddenly down in a feigned fit. Etiquette, of course, 
would be forgotten under- such circumstances; there would 
be a general rush from the table with smelling-bottles and 
tumblers of cold water. When the patient had been restored 
and led away by the other attendants, reserve was sure to be 
banished for the rest of the evening. Each guest would 
have a good story to tell of some festivity disturbed in much 
the same way. However, no such dilemma transpired, and 
from the beginning of the dinner to the end, all was sparkle 
and spontaneity. 

‘ I wish,’ Mr. Rapham said to Lady Letitia, as He com- 
placently surveyed the dazzling table and gay company — ‘ I 
wish dinner-parties cost nothing. I would give one every 
day.’ 

‘And I am sure, dear Mr. Rapham,’ Lady Letitia replied 
blandly, ‘your friends would be only too happy to come.’ 

‘ Oh, there is no doubt about that ! They would come 
for my dinner if they would not come to see me,’ was the 
blunt reply. 

‘ But why should they not come to see jvu T Lady 


MR. R A PH A M'S DEBUT IN SOCIETY, 


117 

Letitia put in with another charming smile. ‘ We do not 
meet with such a traveller as yourself, having so many in- 
teresting stories to tell, very often, I assure you.’ 

Mr. Rapham made an odd grimace, and cracked another 
walnut. Gratified although he was to have this fine lady 
sitting by his side, a guest at his own table, and amusing as 
he found the entertainment altogether, the talk, the dresses, 
and the table, he was not accessible to feminine flattery. 

‘ My notion is,’ he said, ‘ that the people in London who 
arrange my dinner-parties for me might improve upon it. 
Who can talk at his ease when he has to be using a knife 
and fork? Everybody ought to have someone standing 
behind his chair to feed him as if he were a baby. There 
would be time for good stories then.’ 

Lady Letitia laughed heartily. 

‘ Oh, dear Mr. Rapham, how original you are !’ 

‘ Original or not,’ was the blunt reply, ‘ a professional 
feeder would be mighty convenient. These walnuts now — 
how can I talk to you and peel them at the same time? 
With somebody at hand to peel them and pop them into 
my mouth, I should be able to enjoy my dessert and your 
company at the same time.’ 

‘ Oh, do let my daughter prepare some walnuts for 
you !’ Lady Letitia exclaimed, glancing towards her eldest 
daughter, who sat a little lower down on the same side 
of the table. ‘ Grade has really a gift that way. Machines 
could doubtless be invented for the purpose, but the most 
ingeniously contrived machine, I am sure, could not excel 
her fingers. The walnuts are rid of their peel as if by 
magic.’ 

‘ What an accomplishment to noise to the world !’ Grade 
said good-humuuredly, yet not without a touch of vexation. 


Ii8 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 

* In these days, too, when every girl but myself is expected 
to be either a Senior Optime or a First-class Classic/ 

‘ Humph r said Mr. Rapham. ‘ A woman who knows 
how to use her hands, in my humble opinion, is worth ten 
who have nothing to boast of but a head full of book- 
learning/ 

Whereupon Lady Letitia coaxed Gracie into showing her 
skill, and whilst the process of walnut-peeling went on, 
mother and daughter fell into different trains of thought. 
Lady Letitia was thinking — what will not a mother of six 
portionless maidens think? — how pleasant it would be to 
have this rich eccentricity for a son-in-law! His pretty 
vivacious daughter was sure to marry ere long, and Mr. 
Rapham’s fortune was reputed colossal. There seemed really 
no earthly reason why he should not marry again, nor why a 
girl like Gracie, of unromantic temperament and unselfish 
disposition, should not accept him. He was odd, certainly, 
and elderly and illiterate. But he had out-of-door tastes ; 
he would be sure to leave his wife pretty much to follow her 
own devices. He did not seem a domestic tyrant. He 
appealed to his young daughter in everything, reflected Lady 
Letitia ; yes, she should put no obstacles in the way ; she 
should show as much civility to the Raphams as circum- 
stances permitted. 

Gracie, for her part, whilst obligingly peeling the walnuts 
and chatting to Mr. Morrow, had such thoughts as these in 
her mind : Why, oh, why must a girl in fashionable society 
be despaired of, regarded as a failure, if she is not married 
by her thirtieth birthday ! I am quite contented to be as I 
am ; at least, I should be, had I a little more liberty, a little 
more money, a few more openings for individuality. I should 
never dream, myself, of flattering a man for the sake of per- 


MR. RAPHAM^S DEBUT IN SOCIETY, 


119 


suading him to propose to me. Other things interest me as 
much as marriage. Why, then, not let me be ? Why must 
I involuntarily minister to the small vanities of men, whom if 
I were asked to marry, if I did marry, it would not in the 
least be on their own account, for their own sakes, simply 
because they have money and I have not, because I am a 
superfluous girl to be got rid of? 

In the meantime, at the other end of the table, and in 
another feminine mind, a quite opposite train of thought 
had been awakened. It is wonderful what difference a 
beautiful gown may make in the life of a woman ! How 
may exterior circumstances, indeed, arouse that feminine 
consciousness which is the key-note to so many women’s 
lives ! 

For the first time in her life, the very first time, although 
she had reached the age of twenty-five, Norrice Bee was 
realizing that aspect of existence to which she was indebted 
solely by virtue of sex. Hitherto coquetry had been as 
foreign to her as to those austere maidens we read of in 
history, self-devoted martyrs of patriotism or religion. She 
had never felt the faintest interest in any fellow-creature 
from the mere fact that he accidentally belonged to one sex 
and she to another. She had never asked herself whether 
she was beautiful or not. That poor, familiar face of 
hers ! Whenever she glanced at it in a mirror, it was most 
often with a pang of self-compassion ; she pitied herself for 
those wan looks, due to excessive intellectual work — those 
premature lines of care called forth by daily, sordid needs. 
Now, however, at least for a brief space, she had cast off all 
her burdens, alike material and spiritual. The supreme 
sacrifice consummated, her invention bartered for daily 
bread, there was nothing to do but to forget and begin to 


20 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


live anew, to find out what else life had to give. The pale, 
meditative, shabbily dressed girl of yesterday was hardly 
recognisable in the sumptuous, sparkling woman now sitting 
by Villedieu’s side. She wore crimson roses in her dark 
hair, and well did the rich tomato-cOloured dress set off her 
pure, pearly complexion and magnificent eyes ; but it was 
far less mere beauty than wit and spirit that fascinated her 
dinner-table companion. As one humorous suggestion or 
brilliant repartee after another dropped from her lips, he said 
to himself — Is it possible that a woman like this should be 
condemned to the struggling life of a bread-winner, the 
aging need of supporting herself and another by ill-re- 
munerated toil ? 

‘ Sphinx that you are,’ he said, ‘ how long do you intend 
to withhold your weighty secrets ? what is the meaning of 
thus suddenly mystifying us in the guise of a ball-room queen? 
When are we to learn in what form Newtonian revelation has 
descended upon an inhabitant of this benighted town, re- 
deeming it from insignificance for ever ?’ 

‘ Is not the transformation you speak of a sign that I have 
exchanged roles?’ she replied with sparkling gaiety. ‘ Life 
cannot be resolved into an algorithm. The delights of 
millinery may well be accepted by a woman as a reward 
for discoveries, no matter how marvellous. ’Tis better 
anyhow than being burned alive for them, as would have 
happened to her two hundred years ago.’ 

‘ I am enchanted to hear you talk of rewards. Then,’ he 
continued tentatively, with the evident design of drawing 
her out, ‘we may soon expect to be enlightened on the 
subject of your invention ?’ 

‘Enlightened is not the word — say astounded, made 
breathless, taken by storm,’ she said gaily. ‘ But my own 


MR. RAPE AM'S DEBUT IN SOCIETY. 


I2I 


part is done. I leave the rest to a grateful and admiring 
world.’ 

‘ You really excite my curiosity in the highest degree. I 
hope you will let me be one of the first to congratulate you 
and take part in your triumph ?’ 

‘ By all means,’ she said, in the same strain of light play- 
ful banter. ‘And supposing that triumph takes place in 
some remote part of the globe, say at St. Petersburg, or the 
Antipodes, what an additional one to have brought you 
thither !’ 

He was growing more puzzled than ever. 

‘Your invention, I presume, has found a foreign pur- 
chaser ?* 

* Wait and see,’ she said, still evasive and enigmatical. 

‘All I can say then is, I heartily rejoice in your success,’ 
he replied with a little sigh of regret. ‘ I only wish I could 
have been of use to you myself! Alas, as you know, as 
everybody knows, if I do get into Parliament I shall be the 
poorest man there !’ 

‘ Then what you want in money you must make up in 
ideas or in principles,’ she said mischievously. 

‘ Which ? That is the question. Provided I possess the 
two, which am I to sacrifice to the other ? To utilize both 
in public life is to try the impossible feat of the monkey in 
the fable, who wanted to squeeze his paw full of nuts out 
of a narrow-necked bottle.’ 

‘ The monkey should have broken the bottle. Sacrifice 
yourself, then !’ 

He looked a little crestfallen. 

‘ That is not so easy when a man’s politics is his all. I 
am in the position of the milkmaid of the rustic song, whose 
face was her fortune ; or of the juggler whose sole accom- 


122 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


plishment is to eat fire. Without my face, without my fire- 
eating, I should really have no place on the human stage.* 

‘What we cannot find we must invent,’ Norrice said, ‘be 
it an automatic paper-cutter or a career.’ 

Then the dinner-table tete-h-tete ended. There was a rustle 
of silk skirts towards the door ; the bright train of ladies in 
gala dresses vanished. Lady Letitia at once went up to 
Norrice with a kindly patronizing air. She was not one of 
those mothers who dislike every handsome girl on account 
of her own less well-favoured daughters. She, moreover, 
acted on the excellent social rule of being civil to every- 
body ; and although this was their first meeting in a salon, 
she knew Norrice very well as a teacher. The thought 
immediately struck her, that the inventions everybody in 
Strawton had heard of, and most railed at, must have 
brought the originator money after all. Otherwise would 
she appear in a brilliant company, herself as brilliant as 
any? 

‘ It is a pleasant surprise to find you here,’ Lady Letitia 
began, ‘and I am sure you must need a little distraction 
after your hard day’s work. I hope you will come to my 
little dance with Miss Rapham \ as she has no companion, it 
will be agreeable for both.’ 

‘ Thank you,’ Norrice said, quite overcome by this piece 
of condescension. ‘ I never learned to dance, but I shall 
like to look on.’ 

‘Where is your good mother? I understood that she 
was to be here,’ Lady Letitia added. She had made up her 
mind by this time that under Mr. Rapham ’s roof she must 
be prepared to meet anybody. 

‘ Dinner-parties are among the things my mother prefers 
to imagine at home,’ Norrice replied laughingly. ‘ Miss 


MR. RAPHAM'S DEBUT IN SOCIETY. 123 

Rapbam wanted her to come, and so did I, but she per- 
sisted in remaining behind. She says that it is much better 
to imagine such events than to take part in them, because 
no dinner-party is ever quite perfect, whereas imagination 
can make it so. And all the fatigue is spared into the 
bargain.* 

‘ All chaperons at balls would agree with Mrs. Bee, I am 
sure,’ Lady Letitia replied, yawning behind her fan. ‘I 
have accompanied my daughters to three within the last 
fortnight, and I would much rather have enjoyed them 
after your mother’s plan. How delightful to hear that one’s 
carriage is waiting ! Though,’ she added, waking up to the 
exigencies of society, ‘ here we must all admit there is no 
room for ennui. The evening has passed like a moment. 
What a charming man is Mr. Rapham, so piquant, so 
original !’ 

Norrice did not respond to that ebullition of feeling. Mr. 
Rapham, no matter how things might turn out, would ever 
appear to her the very reverse of charming. 

‘And Miss Rapham,* so fresh and unspoiled by all the 
flattery she receives — for of course she is much flattered, all 
heiresses are — I am glad to be of use to her ; she is in a 

trying position for so young a girl. Don’t you think ’ 

here Lady Letitia glanced round to see that nobody was 
near, then she added behind her fan — ‘ don’t you think she 
must be engaged to Mr. Silverthorn? The two seem to 
understand each other so very well’ 

Norrice looked unsuggestive, and Lady Letitia turned to 
another subject 

‘ My dear Miss Bee, you really must give my girls some 
lessons in mathematics, Euclid, algebra, and that sort of 
thing. All the fashion, isn’t it, now ? and in my young days 


124 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


never so much as thought of for young ladies. I wonder 
what will be the next accomplishment. You will really 
come then, shall we say, on Monday mornings ?’ Here she 
again dropped her voice behind her fan. ‘You make, of 
course, a reduction of terms on three. And I should really 
like to sit by myself. One ought to know what are the 
fashionable amusements of the day. And a very little, a 
mere smattering, enables one to talk about anything. I 
dare say you can lend the girls the necessary books. We 
can’t afford books. ^ 

Meantime, during the dinner, Silverthorn and Rapha had 
been as merry as any ; but there came a moment, later in 
the evening, when the lovers interchanged a serious word. 

‘ Have you spoken to your father about me ?’ Silverthorn 
asked, laying a desperate stress on the words ‘ Have you •/ 
‘ or do let me speak to him.’ 

‘ Pray let things be for the present,’ Rapha replied. 

He looked at her fondly and whimsically. 

‘ Take care,’ he added. ‘ Already, for aught we know, I 
may be forestalled, supplanted by contract. A proper alli- 
ance is perhaps in course of arrangement for you by Allchere 
and Company.’ 

But Rapha smiled away his fears, and, indeed, he felt 
that he had no right to complain. The largest share of the 
hostess’s society had fallen to himself. 

On the whole, Norrice admitted to her mother that per- 
haps the evening was as great a success as if purely conjured 
up by the imagination. They compared notes. She related 
eacli feature of the entertainment. Mrs. Bee next gave her 
imaginary version, the climax of which consisted in a pro- 
posal of marriage from Mr. Morrow, accepted by Norrice, 
of course. 


THE VANISHING-POINT, 


125 


* And of course, so much being settled, every other con- 
tingency followed. I assure you, I have just seen you 
dressed as a bride and married to Mr. Morrow in the parish 
church, exactly as if the thing had really happened* 

‘ I am glad it has not,’ Norrice said, and fain would have 
gone to sleep ; but her mother had much more to ask and 
to relate. 

Day was dawning ere they fell into that sound slumber 
from which neither the chimney-sweep’s cry, nor the cat’s- 
meat woman, nor the milkman’s horn, nor any other of the 
street harmonies for which Strawton was remarkable, could 
awaken them. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE VANISHING-POINT. 

‘ I SAY, Rapha,’ Mr. Rapham said, when the last guest had 
taken his departure, * is it not a good joke ? I shall make 
money out of that little governess’s invention.’ 

This was just one of those speeches which made Rapha 
feel as if, in spite of her father’s generosity to herself, in 
spite of his affection, they remained perpetually strangers to 
each other. How could she make him realize the effect 
such words had upon her without overstepping the boundary- 
marks of filial respect ? Even to express mild disapproval 
was to set herself up as a critic of one to whom she was 
bo ind to show deference. She tried to conceal her dis- 
comfiture, and to treat his way of looking at the matter as a 
joke, too. 


126 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


‘ I am very glad, for of course, if the invention proves a 
success, she will benefit also.’ 

‘You don’t know the kind of bargain we made, then? 
And a bargain is a bargain, you know. I bought the con- 
cern out and out for a hundred pounds down, and mighty 
glad they were to get it — mother and daughter, I mean. 
They seem half starved.’ 

‘ But, dear papa ’ began Rapha. 

‘ But, dear daughter,’ mimicked Mr. Rapham. The most 
temperate man in the world, never indulging to excess, how- 
ever seductive the drink and dishes placed in his way, the 
dinner-party had nevertheless excited him ; he was garrulous, 
expansive, in high good-humour. ‘ But, dear daughter,’ he 
went on, ‘when you sell a thing — what you get for it is 
another matter — when you sell a thing, it belongs to the 
buyer — you surely know that ?’ 

‘You would, of course, give her something? If you 
make money by her invention you would not keep it all, 
as she is so poor?’ Rapha urged. 

It seemed hopeless to try to make her father see the affair 
from any other point of view but his own. Nevertheless, 
she must make an effort on Norrice Bee’s behalf. 

‘ I can’t say whether I would or whether I wouldn’t. 
That is neither here nor there. But I believe there is more 
in that little girl’s head than in all the rest of the Strawton 
folks’ skulls put together. Humph ! That ever I should 
say that of a woman !’ 

He seemed in such genial spirits that Rapha felt eih- 
boldened to plead Norrice’s cause once more. 

‘ After all,’ she said, ‘ we do not want the money, papa, 
and Mrs. Bee and her daughter do. That seems to me the 


THE VANISHING-POINT, 


127 


best of reasons for handing over to Norrice any profits you 
get out of her invention.’ 

‘ My dear child, if everyone who had money gave it away 
to those who had none, the world would soon be a beggars’ 
warren, and there would not be a solvent man left in 
Christendom.’ 

* But there is a limit,’ urged Rapha. ‘ You possess a 
large fortune already. Why want more ?’ 

‘ There is no limit when you come to money,’ was the 
sharp reply. * The more a man has, the more he wants — 
the more he is bound to want’ 

‘ I do not think I shall ever care for money in that way 
myself, papa.’ 

‘Then you must marry a husband who will care for you. 
You don’t seem to understand these matters any more than 
a child in the nursery,’ Mr. Rapham continued, fond always, 
but argumentative and a little impatient ‘ You don’t seem 
to realize what money stands for, what it represents.’ 

Rapha looked unconvinced. 

‘ It seems to me to represent quite as much harm as good,* 
she said ; she had in her mind Silverthorn’s honest, single- 
minded, manly affection, and the barrier that money already 
placed between them. 

‘ Twiddle-dum-dee !’ Mr. Rapham said, growing more and 
more loquacious. ‘ I suppose your head is full of school- 
girls’ nonsense about love in a cottage and so forth. Now 
let me explain to you what money is. Money, then, is just 
the difference between what lasts and what does not last. 
That is one proper common-sense definition of money. 
All the high-flown notions and fine talk in the world, 
for instance, won’t flU a ship with cargo, build a city like 


128 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


London. The folks who talked big, and who held grand 
notions about this, that and the other, are dead and buried, 
but the hard cash of those who had it in their pockets 
remains to this day. Then money is the difference between 
being bullied by others and being able to bully them when 
they deserve it. Not that I want to bully anyone, I am 
sure ; it is not in my nature. But it makes a man com- 
fortable to feel that he has it in his power ; at any rate, that 
no soul on earth can bully him. You are a mere chit as yet; 
it is not likely that you should see things as they really are, 
or look beyond your nose. But I do. And I am not going 
to have you bullied, I can tell you.’ 

‘After all, the first thing in life is to be happy,’ Rapha 
said ; ‘ I shall never, I think, feel as you do about these 
matters, papa.’ 

Mr. Rapham put his hands in his pockets, and looked at 
her with an expression of unfeigned astonishment. 

‘ As if money did not make people happy ! happy in their 
lives, happy in their graves. I shall rest peacefully beneath 
the sod, feeling that I have done my duty by my own, made 
the fortunes of my family, come what come may.’ 

‘ And suppose, papa,’ Rapha began timidly — ‘ suppose I 
marry someone who cares no more about money than I do. 
Why then be at such pains to add to your fortune by inven- 
tions or anything else ?’ 

‘ Never trouble your head about that,’ he replied. ‘ I 
shall tie down your money pretty tight to you and your 
children, of course. No scatter-brain of a son-in-law making 
ducks and drakes of his wife’s fortune, thank you !’ 

Rapha had brought him to a point, not, however, to the 
vanishing-point she had in her mind. She tried once more 
to make him see things from her own point of view. 


THE VANISHING-POINT, 


129 


* But who can tell what may happen ? Supposing I never 
marry at all — of what good is so much money to me ?’ 

‘Not marry!’ Mr. Rapham said. ‘You are just as likely 
to die single as I am to have as many wives as the Sultan of 
Turkey.’ 

‘ And again, all women who marry do not have children, 
and children die,’ Rapha persisted. ‘ It seems to me that 
to accumulate a large fortune for those to come afrer us is 
like building on sand.’ 

Mr. Rapham saw her meaning clearly enough now. But 
he had thought out that problem over and over again before. 

‘ Look you, Rapha,’ he said ; ‘of course no man is such 
a jolter-head as to make money and not care a straw where 
it goes to. Is it likely I have left Death out Of my reckoning? 
Even we moneyed men can’t bully Jmn. Everybody’s life is 
uncertain, I know; does that make any difference? My 
money won’t melt away. Say you don’t marry, or you 
marry and remain childless, or you have children and they 
die : the fortune I have made for you will remain compact 
as a nugget. I have left instructions as to what is to be 
done with it ; we will talk about that another time. It is 
not going into flitters and tatters. I’ll warrant you.’ 

It seemed quite hopeless for Rapha to say another word. 
She began to realize her father’s views on the subject of 
wealth more clearly than ever. 

‘ Everything will be as straight as possible whenever any- 
thing happens to me,’ Mr. Rapham went on, glad of an 
opportunity of introducing a delicoie topic. ‘ That is one 
comfort. And not a penny will be wasted,’ he added with a 
chuckle. ‘ I have insured against the rapacity of the whole 
set — doctors, lawyers, and undertakers, I mean, bother take 
them 1 The whole thing is contracted for ; what idiots men 

9 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


130 

are not to adopt this system generally ! No expensive 
servants’ mourning — Allchere and Company keep mourning 
liveries on hire. And only think of that, Rapha ; not only 
a genteel funeral, but a funeral sermon is in the bargain. 
They say it is quite the right thing, although I don’t see the 
use of it myself.’ 

Rapha could not resist a smile, in spite of the gruesome 
turn conversation had taken. 

‘ I suppose one can’t contract for one’s salvation,’ she 
said ; ‘ that would be very convenient for some people.’ 

‘ Humph !’ Mr. Rapham said, cynical, but ever in good 
humour with her ; ‘ I suppose you mean me, my dear What 
we have to see to first, I take it, is our business here, and 
that takes up pretty much of a man’s time. And after all, 
why worry ourselves so much about what will come after, 
when very likely, as soon as the breath is our of our bodies, 
we shall no more know what is going on than a rotten 
potato. Well, there goes twelve of the clock. Our busi- 
ness now is to go to bed; I have to be up early to-’ 
morrow.’ 

* Why up so early ? why take so much trouble about that 
farm of yours ?’ 

‘ Oh, you think I bought a farm in order to lose money 
by it, do you, goosey ! Not I.’ 

He had reached the door, when he turned back to add a 
further remark. 

‘ A first-rate dinner, don’t you think ? and not dear. 
Twelve and ninepence . per head, and wine charged for 
per glass according to what was drunk. Mind and ask 
Mr. Villedieu to the next. I have my eyes upon that 
man.’ 

Then he went to bed, and was soon fast asleep, not in 


THE VANISHING-POINT. 


131 

the least disturbed by those gloomy allusions that had 
just taken place. No priestly assurance as to his felicity 
in another world could have comforted him so much as 
this conviction : not a soul would be unfairly enriched to 
the extent of a penny at his death. Could he have con- 
tracted for his salvation — at a reasonable price — he would 
have done it as a business matter, and as a reasonable 
investment. This not being practicable, he seldom thought 
of the subject at all, and certainly not with uneasiness. 
Beyond the grave his thoughts did not penetrate. Life 
to him seemed very simple, man’s destiny straightforward 
enough— no need for theology to throw any light upon 
either. Such, at least, was his succinct philosophy, although 
he seldom alluded to it in any way. 

Rapha, dismissing the pretty automatic maiden contracted 
for, sat in her luxurious bedroom pensive enough. 

Strange that all the subtlety of introspection, all the self- 
questioning and far-reaching thoughts should be with this 
young girl; all the light-mindedness, want of conscience, 
and flippancy with her father. Whilst Mr. Rapham slum- 
bered like some little cabin-boy, not recking the lightning- 
flash, herald of storm and peril, Rapha — all her senses 
keenly alert as those of the captain anxiously at his post — 
kept painful vigil. 

Every suggestion that had fallen from her father’s lips 
filled her with vague apprehension and alarm. There was 
Norrice Bee’s invention, for instance. Was it possible that 
he could for a moment contemplate making money after 
such ignoble fashion? Take advantage of a woman’s 
poverty, inveigle her into a ruinous contract, enrich himself 
by the ingenuity of a penniless, helpless girl ! The bare 
possibility filled her mind with shrinking and dismay. • Then 

9—2 


132 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 

came another thought, equally disturbing. It was plain 
that he regarded Mr. Villedieu in the light of an eligible 
son in-law; had, in fact, determined to pay court to him as 
a likely suitor for his daughter’s hand. Setting aside her 
affection for Silverthorn, the notion of such advances was 
hateful. She must, she would summon courage to declare 
the truth at once. It was a duty she owed to her father, 
her lover, herself. Rapha was by no means romantic, in 
the ordinary acceptation of the word. Hers was a nature 
too robust, too thoughtful, too inquiring for mere sentiment. 
Like her friend Norrice, she found other things as yet more 
interesting than love. But she had given Silverthorn the 
pure, single-minded, straightforward affection of her woman’s 
nature. She not only felt a confidence in him that was 
quite sisterly, but between the two existed a comradeship, a 
frank, outspoken attachment, by far the strongest feeling 
each as yet knew. What wonder then that, in the midst of 
her splendour and social triumphs, she should feel sorrowful 
and lonely! What wonder that this, as it seemed, too 
happy evening should end in tears and desolation ! The 
magnificence with which she was surrounded, the very fair- 
ness of her future, seemed to shut her out from all she most 
loved and valued. Her love for Silverthorn, her friendship 
for Norrice, must not these be sacrificed to the god of her 
father’s idolatry — the wealth that already was growing burden- 
some, almost odious to her ? 


VEERING ROUND, 


*33 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

VEERING ROUND. 

Many men, for reasons best known to themselves, make up 
their minds never to marry ; yet, for reasons equally cogent, 
are led to change their minds. They let the age of romance 
glide by. They never expect, or particularly desire, to fall 
in love. They nevertheless deliberately, and with the utmost 
circumspection, contemplate a change in their mode of 
existence — a fireside partnership which is to answer manifold 
ends. 

Mr. Morrow and Mr. Villedieu were in this case. Both 
had long held the opinion that delightful as wedlock may 
be, and commendable as it certainly is on social and moral 
grounds, they were hardly prepared to sacrifice personal 
liberty in exchange. They liked the society of the other 
sex ; if not adorers, they were respecters, even upholders, of 
women. There allegiance and chivalrous feeling had hitherto 
ended. They stopped short at the tie irrevocable ; the 
wedding-ring had certain terrors for them. By a strange 
concatenation of events, each had now reasoned himself 
into the opposite way of thinking. They were suddenly 
bent upon marriage, but this alteration of purpose was due 
to very different causes. 

Mr. Morrow craved rank, a rise in the social scale — the 
status of a country gentleman. Villedieu had reached a 
crisis in his career when wealth was absolutely necessary to , 
access. Money formed the pivot on which his fortunes 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


actually turned, and how could a man in his position 
become suddenly rich, except by means of marriage ? He 
could not betake himself to trade — he possessed no aptitude 
for invention, still less was he a speculator. Surely, under 
such circumstances, he might well be excused for seeking a 
wealthy wife ! 

It almost invariably happens that opportunity, when k 
does come, wears a twofold aspect. We may, perhaps, have 
waited years to accomplish our object, and suddenly dis- 
cover that there are two ways of bringing it about ; we have 
reached a parting of the ways, and each leads to the goal 
we would fain win. 

Mr. Merton Morrow, after longing half a lifetime to shake 
off the atmosphere of trade, and be admitted, for once and 
for all, into fashionable society, found himself unexpectedly 
in the possession of a double passport. No sooner was the 
young heiress’s drawing-room thrown open to him than Lady 
Letitia smiled a welcome. The dinner-party at Strawton 
Park was followed by an invitation to the great lady’s ball, 
and that invitation decided Mr. Morrow. He would be 
assiduous in his attention to the Lowfunds ladies. He 
would ask the hand of one of the elder girls in marriage. 
All were very pleasant. Of the three, he slightly preferred 
Grace, but he was really not at all particular. The others, 
like their eldest sister, were tall, aristocratic, quite good- 
looking enough for the most fastidious, and they were 
amiable. Yes ; any man might consider himself fortunate 
thus mated. 

Villedieu found himself much more perplexed. If Mr, 
Merton Morrow was not apt at falling in love, still less was 
Mr. Frederick Villedieu. A man of the world, much 
travelled, of varied experience, he had never known what it 


VEERING ROUND. 


was to feel timid in the presence of the other sex. He 
knew much more of the feminine world than Mr. Morrow; 
and, truth to tell, was not without contempt of certain 
types. But he had just made the acquaintance of two 
women who agreeably interested, one of whom delight- 
fully perplexed him. And both were heiresses ! 

It might seem premature, certainly, to put Norrice Bee 
in the same category with Rapha Raphani — to throw the 
possibilities of scientific discovery into one scale and the 
trader’s solid million into the other ! 

But Villedieu believed in science, in ideas, above all, in 
individual endowment whenever he chanced to light upon 
it. In his eyes, Norrice Bee, by virtue of extraordinary 
mental gifts, was already a capitalist. And the world is 
ripe for wonderful discoveries, he said. We cannot have 
too many of them. We need more and more every day. 

If Norrice were really in a fair way of making her fortune 
by her invention, and her own suggestions pointed to this, 
his mind was made up. He would ask her to be his wife. 
He could not marry a penniless girl, otherwise he would 
take the same step irrespective of worldly considerations 
But women are generous towards men, if not towards each 
other. She would understand his motives ; she would 
condone them. He did not crave money for money’s 
sake, or selfish, personal ends. The richer he became, 
the more effective might be his services in the army of 
progress. 

Then there was Rapha. Had she not once occupied his 
thoughts as a possible bride? Sweet and engaging as he 
found her, attractive as was her very artlessness in his eyes, 
he felt that he ought not so much as to think of her for a 
moment now. An easy task, certes, for any man to woo 


136 


THE PARTim OF THE WAYS. 


such a maiden ! Her father paid unmistakable court to 
him. Nothing could be plainer than that Mr. Rapham 
loved a fine name. But enticing as were these reflections, 
Villedieu felt that if Nature had destined any special woman 
to be his wife, that woman was Norrice Bee. There was 
more than inventive faculty here. Rare intellectual gifts do 
not go alone. This shabby governess, whose very existence 
had hitherto been ignored by her fellow-townsfolk, had wit, 
and Villedieu adored wit as his own soul. He could live 
without the sight of rosy lips ever parting with a smile, 
languishing eyes and airy, bewildering movements. He 
wanted the sparkle that is not wholly of the surface, the 
effervescence that bespeaks the real juice of the sun-ripened 
grape, no mere chemical compound affording deceptive 
froth and bubble. 

He decided to look in at the Patent Office and study 
Norrice Bee’s blue-book next day, also to gain, if possible, 
a little information about her invention. In the present 
stage of their acquaintance he could not without indelicacy 
put questions on the subject to herself. But they were to 
meet a week hence at Lady Letitia’s ball, a few days later 
again at Strawton Park. He wanted, in the meantime, to 
learn all that he could. 

Men have an odd way of meeting acquaintances at hap- 
hazard in the City. At first sight it would seem— it always, 
indeed, does seem so to women— that one needle might as 
easily light upon another in a stack of hay. But so it is 
after some fashion, mysterious to the other sex, a man has 
only to visit the most crowded part of London in the busiest 
hour of the day, and he is sure to find the very person he 
is looking for. 

So it happened to Mr. Rapham on the morning after his 


VEERING ROUND. 


137 


dinner-party by contract. He wished to meet Villedieu, 
and, of course, as he wished to meet him, the very moment 
he set foot within the precincts familiar to business men, 
there he was ! 

‘ Good-day to you, sir,’ Mr. Rapham said cordially. * I 
suppose you are interested in stocks ?’ 

‘ No more than in stones, I assure you,’ was the cheery 
reply. ‘ Why should I be, since I have none ? I assure 
you, and it is no empty vaunt, I am the most disinterested 
man who ever passes the Bank of England, and that is saying 
a good deal.’ 

Mr. Rapham seemed highly appreciative of the joke. 
Villedieu’s openness set him at ease. He grew friendly 
and confidential. 

‘ You happen to be the very person I wanted to see,’ he 
said engagingly. 

‘ I am delighted to hear you say so. Nobody ever wants 
to see me in the City — but duns,’ Villedieu replied, light- 
hearted as before. 

‘ Will you, then, come to my office for ten minutes ? 
Well, I cannot say that I have an office exactly, but one 
must have a place to see business men in, you know ; and 
mine is in the contract, costs next to nothing, is thrown 
into the bargain.’ 

Villedieu willingly consented, and the pair, after walking 
a few minutes, entered a cosy room on the second floor of a 
many-storied house in the heart of the City. A cheerful 
fire burned in the grate ; they took off hats and great- 
coats and warmed themselves. Then Mr. Rapham plunged 
abruptly into the heart of his subject. 

‘Now,’ he said, ‘Mr. Villedieu, I am not going to beat 
about the bush, and to spend an hour of your tipie and my 


138 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 

own over what may be said in a few minutes, p^hey say 
you are going to stand for the next Parliament.’ 

* Such is my intention. But whether I shall sit in it, that 
appears highly problematic !’ 

‘ They say also that you are a great Radical,’ Mr. Rapham 
continued catechetically. 

‘ Nor have they belied me there. What else should I be 
but a Radical, Mr. Rapham ? What else, I should like to 
know? A man without a sixpence to call his own, and 
obliged to keep up a respectable appearance ; a poor curate 
with nine children is wealth incarnate to me.’ 

Villedieu, for the life of him, could not take a serious 
turn with this queer father of Rapha’s. 

‘But you have a fine name. You belong to the aristo- 
cracy. I am not afraid of such Radicals as youj’ Mr. 
Rapham said waggishly. ‘ However, that is neither here 
nor there. I have told you before, I don’t care a straw for 
politics. But you and I are neighbours, and I wish to be 
neighbourly.’ 

‘Then you will vote for me, my dear sir?’ Villedieu 
exclaimed delightedly. ‘That is indeed a pleasant sur- 
prise.’ 

‘ As I say, I wish to be neighbourly,’ continued the 
trader, with an odd twinkle in his bright eyes, ‘ neighbourly 
in politics as in other things; and, like everything else, 
politics cost money. I will come down with something 
handsome, say a thousand pounds, towards your electioneer- 
ing expenses. That is the long and the short of it.’ 

‘ On my word, you are too generous !’ Villedieu replied, 
quite taken aback. ‘How these expenses were to be 
defrayed, I had not till -this moment any more notion -than 
■^e man in the moon. You have lifted m enormous load 


VEERING ROUND. 


139 


off my mind, put away notions of bankruptcy, suicide, and 
Heaven knows what ! I feel rich already.’ 

‘ This little business is squared, then,’ Mr. Rapham said, 
evidently much gratified by the way in which his offer had 
been received. ‘ I am glad you are not one of those high 
and mighty fellows who think nobody’s money good 
enough for them. Some of us have one thing and some 
another ; and the best plan, I take it, is to make an 
exchange.’ 

‘ Pray tell me what I can do for you. I shall henceforth 
place myself entirely at your disposal,’ Villedieu said, grow- 
ing quite enthusiastic. 

* We’ll see about that another time,’ Mr. Rapham answered 
with a meaning look. ‘ Of course, as you know well enough, 
Mr. Villedieu, I’m no gentleman.’ 

‘ Indeed, how' should I know it ?’ Villedieu said. * If to 
lend a man a thousand pounds is not a gentlemanly action, 
I don’t know what constitutes one.’ 

* I’m no gentleman born and bred, and I’m not ashamed 
to own it,’ Mr. Rapham continued, regarding Mr. Villedieu 
with more and more favour. ‘ But, for my daughter’s sake, 
I wish to stand well with the world, to get among fine folks, 
to be tarred with the same stick, as farmers say. You can 
give us a hand here, Mr. Villedieu, and I count upon you to 
do it.’ 

‘Certainly. With all the pleasure in the world. Pray 
command me.’ 

‘ I want some fine lady to present Rapha at Court when 
the time comes, for one thing. But we will talk of that at 
home. We haven’t half company enough, Mr. Villedieu. 
There will be a cover for you whenever you will favour us 
yrith your company.’ 


140 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


‘ Indeed, I shall be most happy to avail myself of your 
hospitality pretty often, I assure you. You will see me 
besiege your doors as the holder of a soup-ticket at the 
town-hall on distribution-days.* 

‘ All the better. The servants have not half enough to 
do. I shall be obliged to reduce my contract or entertain 
more, I. see that’ 

‘Entertain more then, my dear sir, by all means. To 
give a substantial meal to your aristocratic neighbours just 
now is, I honestly declare to you, a positive act of charity. 
You see, land brings in nothing, and they are in as wretched 
a plight as snowed-up rabbits.’ 

‘ Well, we give another dinner-party next week, and Rapha 
is getting up a ball. Do what you can for us in the way of 
getting people to come,’ Mr. Rapham said, rising in the best 
possible humour. ‘ I won’t detain you any longer, sir. 
Time is money.’ 

‘I wish mine were — gold, silver or halfpence,’ was the 
laughing reply. ‘ However, I suppose the author of that 
proverb had the pick of humanity in his mind, not the 
scum.’ 

‘There is scum and scum,’ Mr. Rapham said, apparently 
appreciating the joke, as he surveyed the well-made, well- 
dressed nonchalant figure beside him. ‘ However, a man 
may call himself what he pleases, and, I take it, you are not 
fishing for compliments from me, sir.’ 

They shook hands after friendliest fashion, and Villedieu 
set out on his errand. 


A DEPARTURE IN FLIRTATION, 


141 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A DEPARTURE IN FLIRTATION. 

If men invariably contrive to light upon their friends in 
that mysterious world to outsiders, the City, women, when- 
ever they chance to find themselves there, are pretty sure 
also to encounter some acquaintance of the other sex. 

Thus it happened to Norrice Bee no^. As she emerged 
from the Patent Office, the first person she met was Villedieu. 
Both looked as airy and cheerful as possible, in spite of the 
depressing atmosphere. Can any be more so ? Who can 
enter this mausoleum of blasted hopes, this burial-ground of 
disappointed ambition, without a feeling of profound 
melancholy? The precincts of a cemetery are enlivening 
by comparison. At least we feel that peace and rest, never 
again to be disturbed, are there, whilst these countless folios, 
in their innocent-looking blue covers, record breaking hearts, 
and hopes eked out day by day as the last stores of ship- 
wrecked men. Even the interior of a prison is less dreary, 
for in the Patent Office there is no warfare with good and 
evil, no inevitable conflict between will and law. T he 
humblest subaltern in the army of inventors is a hero, most 
likely a martyr, doomed to the sorrows, if not the glory, of 
his immortal forerunners. 

‘ Have you, too, invented something ?’ Norrice said 
with a jaunty air. The bustle of the City ever exhilarated 
ber. And, she hardly knew why, in spile of the terrible 


142 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


strain she had gone through a week ago, she felt full of hope, 
upbuoyed by a dim sense of the richness and promise of 
life. 

* Cruellest of sarcasms ! A hare might as well invite a 
crab to have a race with him. No, indeed ; I came here to 
inform myself as to your own.’ 

* To buy it, I suppose ?’ Norrice said with an expression 
of mock dismay. ‘ But you are forestalled — did I not tell 
you so? However, instead of poring over dry blue-books, 
come with me and you shall see the invention itself. The 
place is not far off.’ 

He gave her his arm, and the pair threaded the busy 
thoroughfare, Villedfeu thinking he never wished to see any 
woman look otherwise than Norrice Bee looked now. First 
of all, the shabbiness had vanished altogether, Mrs. Bee’s 
maternal vanity having overcome Norrice’s almost total 
indifference to fine clothes. Her dress, still the plainest of 
the plain, was appropriateness itself, and strikingly becoming. 
So at least thought Villedieu, though his notions on the 
subject were very vague. All he could have said about it 
was that her shoes fitted, that her skirts nicely cleared the 
mud, and that, although well dressed enough to be seen 
anywhere, she would not mind being caught in a downpour 
of rain. 

* My invention is not yet on exhibition, but as it is 
patented I can admit my friends,’ she said, as she stopped 
at the office of a patent agent near Holborn. * I begin to 
feel quite at home here now.’ 

The clerks smiled a welcome— the p'^tentees are ruined, 
the patentees die broken-hearted, but the patentees pay ! — 
and the pair were conducted to a back room, warm and 
cheerful as Mr. Rapham’s office. Norrice invited her visitor 


A DEPARTURE IN FLIRTATION. 143 

to take an armchair in front of the fire, and put the Times 
in his hands. 

‘Just amuse yourself for a few minutes, whilst I prepare 
my little exhibition,’ she said, proceeding to take off her 
gloves. * Read the last murder, and leave me to my own 
behests.’ 

Villedieu unsuspectingly enough did as he was told, and 
began to read. He glanced through the columns of the 
centre page, found something that really interested him, and 
was soon quite absorbed. The fire glowed, the armchair 
was very comfortable, the sense of a woman’s presence agree- 
able : a newspaper was just the thing under the circum- 
stances. 

Meanwhile Norrice bustled about. She now unlocked 
a cupboard, and very deftly and quietly — all the time 
glancing round to see that Villedieu paid no attention to 
her movements — took out some pieces of slight machinery, 
adjusted first one, then another ; finally, unobserved by her 
companion, approached him from behind, and fastened 
something to each arm of his chair. 

‘ How much do you think you weigh ?’ she asked coolly, 
as she now stood over him, much in the attitude of a dentist 
or barber about to begin operations. 

He was deeply interested in his leader, and replied with- 
out looking up : 

‘ How much do I weigh ! why, in Heaven’s name, do you 
ask? Fourteen stone at the last weighing, I believe. 
Excuse me, one minute more, and I shall have finished.’ 

The words were hardly out of his lips when the paper 
dropped from his hands, and an exclamation of astonish- 
ment passed his lips. Norrice had put in motion her weight- 
annihilating machine, and was now carrying him round the 


144 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


room, heavy armchair and all, as easily as if he were a doll 
in its cradle. Effortless, smiling, triumphant, this slender, 
delicate girl made no more ado of her ponderous burden 
than of a basket of cut flowers. He sprang to the floor, 
but she begged, nay, commanded him to be seated, and let 
her invention have a fair trial, Once, twice, thrice, he 
allowed her to repeat the experiment, fairly overcome with 
delight and amazement. Then he insisted on working the 
machine himself, Norrice laughingly consenting. She sat 
down in the chair just vacated by him ; he manipulated 
according to instructions, and found that there was no 
trickery or deception. He could have carried such a load 
from one end of London to the other without fatigue. 

‘You have discovered a new law in mechanics. Your 
invention is of almost universal applicability,’ he said, his 
quick mind rapidly taking in the full significance of her 
discovery. ‘You do not, indeed, know the import of your 
achievement. You have no idea how great you are !’ 

Norrice made ironic reply, although there was no bitter- 
ness in her irony. She was too exultant, too full of the 
proud consciousness of power just then to feel animosity 
—even towards Mr. Rapham. • 

‘ Call me comfortable on my tombstone, and I will envy 
no one’s epigraph in Westminster Abbey ! But I am en- 
chanted at your faith. I fancied that every man was an 
unbelieving St Thomas where the wit of women was 
concerned.’ 

‘ Fling sarcasms at my sex as you please. Your turn has 
come,’ he said. ‘ We are at last dumbfounded, depreciated, 
put out of countenance.’ Then with a change of voice — - 
‘You are not pressed for time, I hope? You will allow me 
to examine your invention leisurely ?’ 


A DEPARTURE IN ELIRTATlO^t, 145 

‘ Pray take your time/ Norrice said ; ‘ you are at liberty 
to scrutinize as much as you please. There is my blue 
book ; you will see that I am amply protected.’ 

* I fervently hope so,’ he replied ; ‘ you have a vast, an 
untenable, a glorious future before you. Such an invention 
is a mine of gold.’ 

Norrice smiled assentingly. His enthusiasm in itself was 
so welcome ; the new turn her life had taken was so agree- 
able, that she hardly felt the mockery of his praise. There 
were many reasons why she forbore to disclose the nature 
of her transaction with Mr. Rapham. In the first place, 
womanly pique said no. She was loth to expose her own 
unbusiness-like conduct in thus selling her birthright for a 
mess of pottage ; pride, too, prevailed. She could not bear 
to let a mere acquaintance into the secret of her straitened 
circumstances. Then there was a feeling of delicacy towards 
Rapha. It was repugnant, nay, impossible to her to show 
Rapha’s father in so odious a light. Lastly, she said to 
herself, why should I take Mr. Villedieu into my con- 
fidence ? Is a pleasant dinner-table companion necessarily 
a friend? an agreeable neighbour perforce a trusty ally? 
What is this engaging intercourse but a mere accident, or 
series of accidents ? 

So she let him study her blue-book and investigate her 
machinery, not in the least disposed to reveal the truth, 
namely, that its success henceforth no more concerned her 
self from a material point of view than the crossing-sweeper 
outside. 

Meantime a very different train of thought was passing 
through Villedieu’s mind. With the rapidity of an alert and 
versatile, rather than a vigorous intellect, he now ibok in all 
the potentialities of such a discovery as this, its bearings 

10 


146 


THE PARTING OP THE WAYS. 


not only upon everyday life generally, but upon science, art 
and industry. 

As with knit brows and close-shut lips he turned from 
blue-book to machinery, and machinery to blue-book, he 
saw before him clearly one application after another of 
Norrice Bee’s new-found mechanical law. Being a man, 
his thoughts naturally reverted to warfare. Memory brought 
back a spectacle witnessed years ago — a column of brave 
Englishmen marching to the relief of fellow-countrymen 
under a tropic heaven, bowed down by the weight of kit, 
haversack, and arms, parched by the burning sun, footsore, 
yet undaunted and uncomplaining; many a poor fellow 
falling from the ranks, unable to take a step more. Then 
his fancy conjured up another picture. He saw before his 
mind’s eye the same soldiers making forced marches in 
sultry lands, carrying the same accoutrements, but uncon- 
scious of their burdens, stepping forth by means of this 
invention jauntily as athletes for the race. 

This girl might be instrumental not only in altering the 
economic conditions of daily life, but in saving countless 
lives ; perhaps even, in some as yet undreamed-of crisis, an 
empire I Was not France rescued from destruction by the 
maiden of Champagne ? But not martyrdom awaited 
Norrice Bee ; instead, the applause of the world and material 
wealth absolutely incalculable. 

Another thought flashed across his mind. If, indeed, it 
were so, if Norrice were really the heiress of her own ideas, 
the architect of her own fortunes, what need divide them ? 
He rose suddenly, and took up hat and stick. 

‘You have positively given me too much to think about,’ 
he said. ‘ I am quite bewildered. Suppose we take a turn ? 
Suppose we have some luncheon Y 


A DEPARTURE IN FLIRTATION. 


147 


He hastened to correct himself, and put the proposition 
in befitting form. 

‘That is to say, if you intend to lunch somewhere, may 
I be permitted to accompany you ? unless, millionaire that 
you are, you now indulge in choice little repasts beyond my 
means?’ 

‘Old habits are sweet. I cling to my bun in a cook- 
shop,’ she replied. ‘By all means let us eat buns in com- 
pany.’ 

Then she put away her treasures, handed the key to the 
clerk, and they quitted the office ; not, however, to betake 
themselves to a cookshop. Villedieu said that they could 
get far better money’s worth elsewhere. Accordingly he 
conducted her to a handsome restaurant where they had a 
little table to themselves. 

Each ordered something, and chatted over the repast as 
if they were comrades of old standing. Villedieu found 
this kind of intercourse new, piquant, and satisfactory. 
Norrice Bee was a well-bred lady. He would no more have 
dreamed of being impertinent to her than to Lady Letitia 
or her daughters. But Norrice’s position made acquaint- 
ance much easier, friendship much more attainable and 
seductive in his eyes. There was no reason why he should 
object to being seen in her company, certainly none why 
Norrice should mind eating at the same public table with 
him. Coupled with this freedom from restraint was the 
fact that she had not a particle of coquetry about her. She 
liked his society because they were in sympathy with each 
other, and found each other mutually suggestive. The fact, 
too, of belonging to different social sets lent added charm. 
He was rather tired of boudoir belles and stereotyped 
beauties. Here he found a fresher, more vigorous, more 


10 — 2 


148 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


enlivening feminine atmosphere. Norrice’s utterances weie 
as unconstrained and free from any shackles of con- 
ventionalism as those of a five-year-old child, whilst for his 
part he could talk freely and earnestly as if discussing grave 
topics with one of his own sex. It was certainly a de- 
parture in flirtation, and a welcome departure too. One 
point was clear to him. Norrice was as far from divining 
his secret thoughts about herself as if she were blind, deaf, 
dumb. She accepted his kindly interest and cordiality as 
quite natural. He was friendly and he delighted in clever- 
ness, that was all. 

‘You must let me see you to the railway-station,’ he said, 
when they rose to go. Something he had still to say to her 
ere they separated, something he hardly knew how to put 
into words. 

‘Thank you,’ she replied carelessly. ‘But I am not 
going home just yet ; I shall just take the first omnibus I 
see. That is my notion of enjoyment — to be going some- 
where. I always envy people I see getting into a train, 
steamboat, or even tramcar. They are going somewhere.’ 

He smiled, although the pathos of the speech did not 
escape him. He saw through it all. Daily life had been 
hard to this fragile bread-winner. Compelled to live in an 
unbeautiful place, and toil from morning to night, no wonder 
that she envied others the privilege of locomotion, and 
yearned for a little freedom and joyousness. 

‘ Mind what you are about, and you will be able to go 
where you please — charter a yacht for a pleasure-trip round 
the world, or a dahabeah for a Nile voyage. Only that 
minding what you are about ! Are you quite sure you 
understand the necessity of it under your present circum- 
stances ?’ he said. 


A DEPARTURE W FLIRTATION, 


149 


She was afraid of a direct interrogation as to her patent, 
and answered sportively ; 

‘ Should I take my pleasure after such reckless fashion 
unless my fortune were made? You seem to think that 
lunching in restaurants and driving up and down London in 
omnibuses is a matter of course — no luxury of the first 
water to some people. However, on second thoughts I 
think I shall pay a visit to the Patent Museum at South 
Kensington, so I will accept your escort to the nearest 
Metropolitan station.* 

And when they reached the booking-office, Villedieu 
suddenly discovered that he had an errand at South Ken 
sington too. And when the train stopped, he said — well, 
really, it was very odd, but he had never visited the Patent 
Museum in his life. It must be deeply interesting. Might 
he accompany her ? So they spent the afternoon together, 
and it was growing dusk when at last Norrice did set out for 
Strawton, Villedieu seeing her off. Every circumstance of 
the day’s adventure was delightful to him, but there came 
the misgiving — was she minding what she was about ? Had 
she secured her invention ? 


CHAPTER XX. 

HALCYON DAYS. 

But although her golden argosies had fallen into the hands 
of buccaneers, from this date the fortunes of the young in- 
ventress began to mend. Mr. Rapham’s draft for a hundred 
pounds proved the turning-point. The sum of daily care 
was diminished. The fable of Charon and Menippus lost 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


150 

its bitter irony. Truth to tell, Rapha’s girlish, impulsive 
generosity was at the bottom of the change. She resorted 
not to one, but to a score of devices on her friend’s behalf ; 
she must really have some lessons in mathematics, and as 
these brought her into contact with Lady Letitia’s daughters, 
Mr. Rapham readily assented. Rapha went twice a week 
to the great lady’s house for the purpose, an arrangement 
that suited everybody, her lessons being paid for so hand- 
somely that the others might be regarded as thrown into the 
bargain. 

Then, a far more important matter in Mr. Rapham’s eyes, 
Rapha wanted to learn how to keep accounts. Norrice 
understood book-keeping thoroughly ; so highly did she 
rise in Mr. Rapham’s opinion that he engaged her to 
look over his own books, in order to check the columns 
of Allchere and Company. ‘ You can never be too parti- 
cular where pounds, shillings, and pence are concerned,’ he 
would say, ‘and nobody is really to be depended on. If 
a man is honest, ten to one he makes mistakes ; and if he 
never makes mistakes, ten to one he is dishonest.’ On the 
whole, therefore, and quite suddenly, their circumstances 
had improved, so much so that they moved into sunnier, 
airier lodgings on the outskirts of the town. Instead of look- 
ing upon patched clothes hanging out to dry, and broken 
flowerpots, they had before them hedgerows and fields ; no 
picturesque outlook, certainly, but for all that- a glimpse of 
God’s world. They gave little tea-parties in the afternoon. 
They were no longer pinched for bare necessities. Norrice 
even projected a trip to Brighton and Folkestone in the 
summer. 

‘Now, Norrice,’ exclaimed Mrs. Bee impatiently, ‘as if 
anybody ever wanted sea-air,, except after measles or whoop 


HALCYON DAYS, 


ing-cough ! And if we have not just had these complaints, 
and go to the seaside safe and sound, we are pretty sure to 
catch them, or something worse. Let well alone, I say. 
After all, what is the sea to look at? Just nothing when 
you think of it. You have only to magnify a pond in 
sufficient proportions in your own imagination, and where is 
the difference, I should like to know ? You can see a ship 
on a sign-post any day ; and as to walking on the rocks and 
finding sea-anemones and drying seaweeds, I assure you 
it is quite out of date. Nobody does that sort of thing 
nowadays.’ 

‘Well, mother dear, let us scrape and screw, and take 
cheap return-tickets up the Rhine,’ Norrice said, feeling 
quite rich. ‘ I should like to see a foreign country once in 
my life.’ 

‘The Rhine was all very well when I was young,’ Mrs. 
Bee rejoined. ‘ But Byron — with his “ castled crag of 
Drachenfels,” and “Hugo is gone to his lonely bed, to 
covet there another’s bride ” — although he is my favourite 
poet, is quite out of date. No one can deny that. Why 
anyone in his own senses should want to go up the Rhine, 
passes my comprehension. We know exactly what it is like 
beforehand.’ 

Norrice sighed. 

‘ Have it all your o^7n way, mamma. When holiday- 
time comes round, however, you shall set off for Timbuctoo 
in imagination, and I will steam down the Thames to 
Boulogne. We shall see which journey answers the best.’ 

‘ Mine will have cost nothing, anyhow,’ Mrs. Bee said, as 
capricious and aggressive in prosperity as she had been even 
and acquiescent in the hour of direst need. ‘ It seems to 
me an ungrateful return for the favour of Providence to 


152 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


begin a gadding, kicksy-wick'sy life, the moment you have a 
little money in your pocket, as much as to say how wretched 
you had been before ! I am sure you and I have always 
been happy enough without travel and adventure. Why 
should we want them now? I only^hope, Norrie, you won’t 
get still better off : you would start for the North Pole, or on 
some equally foolhardy expedition. There is no telling what 
you Would not do, with your mad craving for excitement.* 

Norrice held her peace meekly. It did not seem to her 
that the suggestion of a trip to Brighton, even a journey by 
steamboat to Coblentz, savoured of mad craving for excite- 
ment. But she recalled her mother’s serenity under bitter 
trial, her unmurmuring acceptance of hardest fortune, and 
bore with such unreasonableness now. She felt, too, that 
her own longing for beauty, hitherto a positive drawback to 
existence, was no longer to be wholly unsatisfied. Improved 
circumstances permitted a little intellectual distraction from 
time to time — the visit to a picture-gallery, a concert, or the 
purchase of a new book. Everyday life had brightened also. 
She went into society, and although society may not always 
mean brilliant talk, effervescing and sympathetic humour, 
it may mean much more to people living on small incomes 
in lodgings. The mere drinking tea out of somebody else’s 
china cup under such circumstances may afford a change of 
ideas, the sight of an unfamiliar wall-paper often divert from 
hypochondriac thoughts. 

On the supreme sacrifice of her life, the selling of her 
birthright fora mess of pottage, Norrice would not now allow 
her mind to dwell. By and-by, so she said to herself, she would 
turn her mind once more to invention. For the present 
she preferred simply to live, a.s she put it, to enjoy. She 
never so much as mentioned her discovery except to Ville- 


HALCYON DAYS, 


*53 


dieu. Having once been admitted to her confidence, he 
could hardly be shut out of it henceforth ; but to him she' 
said very little. He only gathered that, unlike most in- 
ventors, she had drawn a prize in the lottery. 

Mr. Rapham had his own reasons for keeping the matter 
quiet. 

* Before we lift a finger in any matter,’ he said, ‘ it is well 
to have an eye in the back of our heads. You are safe, any- 
how,’ and he would chuckle as he repeated this. ‘ You have 
got your hundred pounds — more. I’ll be bound, than any 
woman ever made by an invention before. My business 
now is to make sure of mine. And don’t be afraid. If the 
thing turns up a trump, you shall not be the worse. A five- 
pound note now and then, eh ? nothing like that to make 
the mouth curl upwards, and things comfortable all round. 
And just listen to me. I can put you in the way of earning 
some ready money at once.’ 

Norrice listened, all attention. 

‘ The long and the short of the matter is this. There is 
a knack in putting your machinery together, and working it 
for the first time. Strangers, buyers, if it were blundered 
over, might suppose there was something wrong about the 
whole thing unless they saw it properly managed. What I 
want you to do is to show your invention for a day or two to 
some men who mean business. They will most likely ask 
you no questions not pat to the matter ; if they do, mum’s 
the word. You see,’ he went on, hesitating how best to 
explain himself, ‘we don't want all the world to know our 
business. You made a bargain with your eyes wide open, 
so did I. The ;£ s. d. question concerns nobody else. 
So we won’t satisfy the curiosity of idle folks who come on 
the pry. That is what I mean,’ 


154 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


Norrice understood the drift of his discourse perfectly. 
He felt in his secret heart a little compunction at his share 
in the transaction, or rather he shunned public comment. 

‘ Certainly,’ was all she replied. 

* Remember, nobody who comes has any right whatever 
to ask questions of the kind. Their errand is to look into 
your invention, not to find out what you have pocketed by 
it. The credit of all your fine discoveries you may keep, 
and welcome. It is not everybody who would give you 
that.’ 

* No, indeed,’ Norrice answered quite seriously, her love 
of fun asserting itself above the bitter irony of the situation. 

‘ Thank you much for the handsome present.’ 

Mr. Rapham, not in the least conscious of the sarcasm, 
only a trifle disconcerted by the turn given to his own words, 
now pulled out his purse and handed her a sovereign. 

‘ To-morrow morning then, at ten o’clock sharp, be at my 
office. You can’t earn a pound a day by teaching school- 
misses, I’ll warrant.’ 

Norrice thanked him, and the sovereign, handed over to 
Mrs. Bee, evoked, first of all, a warm panegyric of their 
benefactor. 

‘ It isn’t at all likely that you will say a word in his favour, 
he being a man,’ Mrs. Bee said almost snappishly ; * for my 
part, I consider Mr. Rapham the soul of honour and the 
very pink of delicacy. Of course he will lose money by 
your invention, that is only to be expected. Yet under 
some pretext or other he is always encouraging you, just as 
if the thing were as much of a success as the Thames 
Tunnel. That was not a success in every way, certainly ; it 
was a nine days’ wonder, and everybody talked of it at* the 
time from morning till night. But what are we to do with 


HALCYON DAYS, 


155 


this sovereign ? I should just like to know, what on earth 
are we to do with it ?’ 

Here she tossed the piece of money on the table, and 
her voice took a plaintive, nay, an injured tone. Thus con- 
sistent is human nature in its inconsistency ! Whilst she 
had been all cheerfulness and resignation amid grinding 
care and perpetual worry, each additional sign of prosperity 
developed a carping spirit 

‘The bills are all paid,’ she continued pettishly. *We 
have put a little money in the Savings’ Bank. The cup- 
board is cram-full of groceries. In fact, the truth of it is, 
Norrice, only you don’t seem to realize it a bit, we are over- 
eating from morning till night. I have not uttered a com- 
plaint, but I have suffered frightfully from repletion of late. 
If this sort of thing goes on, you won’t have me to think of 
much longer. I shall soon be in my grave.’ 

‘We did talk of buying a sofa, mamma,’ Norrice put in 
meekly. 

The tables were wholly turned now. She felt that she 
had perhaps borne hardships and privation as ungraciously 
as her mother bore bettered fortune. She was conscious of 
many a sarcasm, many a cynical mood, ever smoothed down, 
ever softened by that gentle maternal patience. She could 
not but be amiable and conciliating now. 

* Who wants a sofa ?’ Mrs. Bee cried, with as much con- 
tempt and irritation as if Norrice had proposed the purchase 
of a gorilla. ‘Who, not afflicted with spinal disease or 
dropsy, I mean ? A sofa is all very well in Cowper’s poetry, 
but quite out of date in real life, a mere superfluity. If we 
had one we should always be sitting on it, and grow so lazy 
and self-complacent that the very magpies would jeer at us ! 
I do think, Norrice,’ she added reproachfully, * I must be- 


156 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 

lieve that you are losing your judgment. Excessive good 
fortune has quite turned your head.’ 

Norrice smiled ruefully as she thought of Esau’s mess of 
pottage and of Robin Gray. 

• Then we used to say a pair of warm curtains would be 
very comfortable,’ she suggested, again in the same mild 
tone. 

* Really, Norrice, I begin to think that a crick in the neck 
is about the very best thing that could happen to both of us. 
It might cure our overweening self-sufficiency. The next 
thing you will be wanting, to a dead certainty, is a pair of 
flunkeys with powdered wigs and stuffed calves ! If we do 
feel a little draught at the back of our heads at night, we 
ought to think of the poor souls who have not so much as a 
rag to cover their nakedness. And one piece of extrava- 
gance invariably leads to another. Warm curtains to-day, 
gilt chandeliers to-morrow, a carriage and pair the next — 
that is how the world walks headlong to ruin 1 I do wish 
we could decently, and without ingratitude to Mr. Rapham, 
rid ourselves of the sovereign. I think the best possible 
way to get out of the dilemma is to take it straight to the 
poor-box. You see, I have not the nerve of former days. 
And the newspapers are so full of horrors, I shall never 
sleep o’ nights if we once take to hoarding money in the 
house. It is positively wicked, too, thus to tempt the needy. 
Only last week two poor burglars were hanged for house- 
breaking and murder, innocent as lambs, I dare say, had no 
temptation been put in their way.’ 

Norrice, keeping back her mirth, now picked up the dis- 
carded coin and began to play pitch-and-toss with it. Then, 
acting a part, she thrust it aside with a well-feigned look gf 
disgust, 


HALCYON DAYS, 


157 


‘ You are right, mammy/ she replied. * There cannot be 
two opinions about it This sovereign is a positive incum- 
brance. If we only kept a donkey and could gild its oats 
with it, as did Caligula 1 Gold, money, coin ! How odious, 
how abominable, how diabolic they are ! Who, possessed 
of a particle of conscience or reason, can harbour them for a 
moment ? Every piece of money we touch is a symbol of 
vileness and corruption. This very pound has most likely, 
not once, but many times, been paid as the price of some 
detestable crime, some atrocious piece of villainy. Perhaps 
for the loss of this identical sovereign some broken-hearted 
gamester hanged himself, or on its account some honest 
creature was murdered in his bed ! and if no sponsor of 
such tragedies as these, does it not stand for gin-drinking. 
Sabbath-breaking, wife-beating, and all manner of evil ? 
Hand me the tongs, mother, I would not touch it with bare 
fingers for anything.' 

She seized the tongs, and making a grimace, much as if 
she beheld something loathsome, whipped up the gold piece. 

. ‘ Let me pitch it into the fire j no, it shall be consigned 
to a baser element. You know that slimy pond in Mr. 
Smith’s farm — I have always likened it to the Slough of 
Despond ; a horrible green ooze perpetually covers it, and it 
is never cleared out from one year’s end to another. There 
we will bury this and as much more of the same filthy lucre 
as we can lay hands on, quite certain that it will never come 
to light again.’ 

Suiting the action to the word, she very gravely dropped the 
sovereign on to a piece of paper, made a packet of it, then, 
equally deliberate, put on bonnet and cloak, as if to seek 
Mr. Smith’s slimy pond. 

*How you jump at conclusions!’ Mrs. Bee exclaimed, 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 


158 

beginning to feel really alarmed as to the fate of her 
sovereign. ‘ Things may be most repulsive in themselves, 
yet we are glad enough to make use of them — asafoetida, 
castor-oil, leeches, and the like. But you never seem to 
understand a figure of speech, Norrice. Hyperboles seem 
incomprehensible to you. When I said just now, “What are 
we to do with this sovereign ?’' I did not, of course, mean 
to convey that there was positively nothing we could do with 
it. We may not want it, and I can’t say we do ; at the 
same time, when we take another view of the matter, there 
are good uses to which we can put it if we once set our heads 
to work. ■ We ought not to want more money, of course ; 
but if we come to that, we ought to want nothing, or next 
to nothing, and give our worldly goods to the poor, after 
the fashion of the primitive Christians. It just happened 
before you came in — but sit down a moment.' 

Norrice did as she was bidden, evidently to Mrs. Bee’s 
inexpressible relief. 

‘It just happened, as I say, that I was thinking how 
handy an odd pound, a windfall in the shape of a sovereign, 
would be at this moment. You see, there are so many 
things one feels justified in doing with a sort of godsend 
like dear Mr. Rapham’s last gift. Well, let me see what I 
had thought of. Oh ! to begin with, I should dearly like to 
have two teeth out — the two that have worried me for years, 
I mean. Then, what is far more important, we ought, we 
really ought, to pay for a sitting at church. Everybody in 
decent circumstances does it. But what am I dreaming of? 
As if having a couple of teeth out that are always grumbling, 
or being obliged to wait for seats in church till the pew- 
opener accommodates us, were of half so much consequence 
as dozens of other things ! When I think of them all, I 


HALCYON DAYS, 


t59 


don’t really know where to begin. A sovereign would just 
buy me a new pair of spectacles ; mine have been cracked 
for the last two years. And although there is this advantage 
about cracked spectacles, that it prevents me from reading 
too much when I should be attending to domestic duties, 
still everyone likes to have things as they should be, and 
spectacles should certainly be whole. And, ah, I should 
have mentioned this first — our watches ! It is very obliging 
of them to go at all, poor things ! for when they were last 
cleaned and regulated, I have not the remotest conception.’ 

‘ Then the sovereign shall not go to the bottom of the 
slimy pond, after all,’ Norrice said, brimming over with 
frolic. ‘ Dear, engaging, sweet, pretty, seductive thing !’ 

She now took the glittering coin from its envelope, and 
fondled it as she spoke : 

* How had we the heart to abuse you, guardian angel that 
you are, messenger from Heaven, purveyor of bliss to 
mortals ! Here, mamma, take the darling treasure, and 
mind that no harm comes to it. I should eat it, out of sheer 
fondness, if left with me much longer. So now I will take a 
walk by way of changing ideas.’ 

When Norrice was gone, Mrs. Bee cogitated the matter 
for at least half an hour ; then, putting on bonnet and cloak, 
quitted the house briskly. She had discovered that, like 
Byron’s Corsair with his countless crimes and single virtue, 
she owned but one sovereign, whilst her wants were legion. 
A process of sifting was then resorted to ; the thousands 
were reduced to a score, the score to ten, five; finally a 
decision was arrived at, and the pound was spent. But it 
went neither to tooth-drawing, nor sitting at church, nor to 
optician, nor watch-maker. 

As might naturally be expected, it went to a woman’s 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


i6o 

vanity, sometimes as sweet a characteristic as any human 
nature can boast of. Her daughter possessed a single orna- 
ment, namely, a gold necklet of beautiful antique filigree- 
work. As chance would have it, Mrs. Bee had lately seen 
at a bric-a-brac shop a pair of ear-rings similar in style and 
pattern — indeed, an admirable match —nothing could be 
better. And gold ornaments are just what best set off a 
tomato-coloured silk. Yes, the ear-rings were absolutely 
necessary now that Norrice went into society ; to-morrow’s 
daily loaf not more so. She was not going to have her girl, 
the handsomest in the place, looked down upon. 

When Norrice returned, the ornaments were produced 
with so much meekness and apology that it seemed as if a 
very reverse transaction must have taken place. Mrs. Bee 
now looked the very personification of guilt and contrition, 
much as if she had squandered the money in tarts ! She 
made such pathetic apologies that Norrice’s heart was too full. 
There remained only one refuge from tears. She must pre- 
tend to scold. 

‘ I won’t wear your ear-rings, mammy, ^ she cried, feigning 
indignation. ‘You know the proverb, “Vain is the snare 
laid in sight of any bird.” I see through your machinations. 
You want me to lay myself out to please all the marriage- 
able bores in Strawton. But you seem to forget that 
marriage is wholly out of date nowadays. Girls look higher 
than that. I, for my part, aspire to being a second Newton 
at least ; and had you bought me an electric battery, or 
the last new treatise on Kinetics, I would have said thank 
you. But the sovereign is disposed of— that is an immense 
comfort; and though you have bought a gross of green 
spectacles with it, a gross of green spectacles is better than 
nothing, as said the Vicar of Wakefield.* 


THE CRUCIAL TEST, 


l6i 


After that little episode, all was mirth and light-hearted- 
ness ; but Mrs. Bee did not venture to allude to the ear- 
rings again for some days to come. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

THE CRUCIAL TEST. 

If marriage is not yet out of date, the continuation of the 
race being brought about by contrivances as yet in the 
clouds, nevertheless, the denizen of another planet or 
member of a primeval state suddenly thrown into London 
must believe in some such revolution. Wherever we go, 
we find woman as much absorbed in all kinds of business, 
from the weightiest to the most trivial, as if already freed 
from the shackles of the nursery and the fireside. There 
they are, associated with the other sex in matters not only 
of national, but world-wide importance, forming a phalanx 
in th« army of commerce, a veritable force recognised and 
acknowledged in the walks of art, journalism, and science. 
Threading the living stream that flows without a break 
from Charing Cross to the heart of the City, or indeed any 
other artery of the great breathing, living corporate body 
called the capital, we find women, alike the young, the 
middle-aged and the old, bent on engrossing behests; 
coquetry — supposed to be their element, as necessary, indeed, 
to them as water to fish — wholly absent, at least hidden 
from view. 

Of course this change presupposes many another. A girl 
who has been expounding Aristotle’s ethics from the pro- 
fessorial chair, or holding her own against antagonists of 


11 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


162 

the other sex on a public board, will hardly, when made 
love to, hang her head like Sophy Western, with * Indeed, 
Mr. Jones, I must leave you to name the day.* Nor will 
she comport herself like foolish little Amelia in ‘Vanity 
Fair,’ or, indeed, any other obsolete heroine. Whether 
courtship will* become less interesting, or Cupid take wings 
and fly away altogether, put out of countenance for ever by 
the sight of a woman in doctor’s gown — or holding a seat in 
the House of Commons — remains to be seen. 

Norrice Bee, exhibiting her invention next day, affords 
an admirable illustration in point ; perhaps the entire city 
of four millions, the ‘ nation of London,’ could give no 
better. 

Here, then, was a mere girl, a woman barely twenty-five, 
holding spell-bound, by force of sheer intellect, not only 
financiers whose daily business is the manipulation of 
millions, negotiators of State loans that may decide the fate 
of nations, but the representatives of Government them- 
selves, grave statesmen, the real sovereigns of our so-called 
Monarchy. Truth to tell, the universal contractors, Allchere 
and Company, to whom Mr. Rapham had entrusted the 
invention, had got the ear of the War Office. War was in 
the air. When, alas ! is it not ? Anything new conducive 
to the expeditiousness of troops on the march, or advan- 
tageous to the soldier individually, considered as the soldier, 
not the man, was just now inquired into with the greater 
alacrity in consequence of recent events. One and all of 
the late wars — if, indeed, they can be so called — waged 
against uncivilized people, had proved disastrous in the 
extreme. The heavily-clothed, heavily-burdened English 
soldier ever proved to be handicapped in the struggle with 
naked savages and Orientals, generally under their own 


THE CRUCIAL TEST. 


163 

burning sun. Could the conditions be made more equal, 
could these drawbacks be lessened, then British forces, 
whether fighting on African deserts or in Asiatic defiles, 
might settle ‘ scientific frontiers ’ as easily and comfortably 
as the Brighton Review is got through on Easter Monday. 

But was there a particle of truth in the reports that had 
reached the ears of these high functionaries ? Had anyone, 
much less a woman, discovered the means of not only 
lightening but, in certain cases and within certain limits, 
annihilating weight ? The whole thing savoured of romance, 
trickery and delusion — was most likely a mere juggle — if no 
intentional imposture, at least a piece of gross self-beguile- 
ment. However, there was no harm in looking at an inven- 
tion ; the thing had to be done every day. The sponsor- 
ship of the great contractors, too, stood for something. 
Allchere and Company might, in a certain sense, dupe 
others; they were hardly likely to be duped themselves. 
And lastly, as the homely proverb runs, ‘ The proof of the 
pudding is in the eating.* An invention, like a man, must 
speak for itself. 

Norrice’s appearance and behaviour were calculated to 
inspire faith. Instead of blushing or trembling as she 
explained and exhibited her invention, she remained as 
cool, business-like and impersonal as a shopman unfolding 
the mysteries of a new Christmas toy to wide-mouthed 
children. 

Again and again her machinery was taken to pieces and 
put together; now this experiment was tried, now that. 
She did not certainly carry these august lookers-on round 
the room in their chairs, as she had carried Villedieu a few 
days before. But her demonstrations were none the les 
convincing. 


II — a 


i 64 the parting OF THE WAYS^ 

‘Good/ said the most distinguished of her appraisers. 
‘Now for the crucial test. Is Captain Lascelles, with his 
men, ready ?’ he asked of his secretary. Immediately an 
officer was introduced, with two soldiers, each fully ac- 
coutred, but belonging to different regiments. 

‘Now,* said the first speaker, ‘my notion is, supposing 
these good fellows have no objection, to let them be blind- 
folded whilst testing the invention for our benefit. We 
shall then be certain that imagination has nothing to do 
with their evidence.* 

‘ We are not experimenting with explosives, my men. 
Be under no anxiety, therefore, for your skins,* he added. 

The soldiers, with rough good-humour, submitted to the 
process of eye-bandaging; they were then very noiselessly 
relieved of kit and haversack, all as noiselessly being im- 
mediately afterwards readjusted by means of Norrice*s 
invention. 

Captain Lascelles, taking an arm of each, now began to 
walk briskly up and down the room, making the walk as 
near like a march as space permitted. Up and down, 
backwards and forwards, they tramped for several minutes, 
till the Captain, making a sign to Norrice, bade them halt. 

A second time their burdens were removed, and Norrice’s 
machinery was now laid aside. Having their kits strapped 
to their shoulders in the usual way, they began to march 
again. A third, even a fourth time, the experiment was 
tried, the weight- annihilating appliance being used alter- 
nately. 

All the time not a word was spoken Everybody’s 
interest was centred in the invention. 

‘That will do,* said the first speaker, at the end of a 
quarter of an hour. ‘ I am much obliged to you. Captain 


THE CRUCIAL TEST. 


165 

Lascelles ; and I thank you heartily, my men. When the 
bandages are removed, we will hear what each has got to 
say for himself.’ 

The pair were set free from their eye-coverings, and the 
officer began his interrogations. 

‘Now, Barber, your story first; Murray’s afterwards. 
What, to the best of your ability, is the nature of the 
experiment just tried upon you ?* 

Barber looked at Murray, Murray scratched his head and 
looked at Barber. The faces of both were blank. 

‘ Experiment, sir ? Experiment ?’ the first got out with a 
mystified air. 

‘Experiment,’ replied the Captain, beginning to be im- 
patient. ‘You don’t suppose you were blindfolded and 
marched backwards and forwards for nothing, do you? 
Use your wits.’ 

Barber, although by no means an unintelligent man, 
looked hopelessly witless just then. He was evidently 
racking his brains for something to say, some kind of 
explanation, and could find nothing, absolutely nothing. 
The face of one looker-on at least began to show incipient 
doubt. Was the palmary proof, the crucial test of Norrice’s 
invention about to break down altogether ? 

‘What was done to you? What were your sensations? 
What happened to you, in fact, whilst I was marching you 
backwards and forwards ? Don’t keep these gentlemen wait- 
ing till Doomsday.’ 

Still the man remained as irresponsive as a lamp-post. 
Obeying orders was one thing; defining sensations another. 
The Captain turned impatiently to his companion. 

‘ You answer for both then, Murray. Look sharp I 
What have we been at whilst you were both blindfolded ?’ 


i66 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


But Murray seemed in as hopeless a state of puzzledom 
as Barber j only, whilst Barber was naturally self-depreciatory 
and a man of few words, Murray was a bit of a wag, and 
had a character for cleverness to keep up. His case was 
very different. There was little or nothing in it all. He 
felt convinced of that, but he was bound to find something; 
A poor reason is better than none, he said to himself. 

‘ Well, sir,’ he said, looking and doubtless feeling as wise 
as Solomon, ‘ wonders will never cease, they may well say ; 
and I suppose we soldiers shall soon be made, as well as 
rigged out and unrigged again, by machinery. That is, I 
reckon, what you have been about. And I must say,’ he 
added, gathering from the expectant looks of his audience 
that he might hold forth as much as he pleased — ‘ I must 
say, no small invention that, whether done by electricity or 
otherwise — a whole regiment accoutred as one man before 
you could spell powder.’ 

None present could forbear a smile at the ingenuity of 
the observation, although a slightly crestfallen look might 
be seen on every face but Norrice’s. The young inventress 
looked every bit as calm and unmoved as if she were a dis- 
interested spectator. 

‘ And once rigged out, what then ?’ asked the Captain. 

‘ It don’t much matter how a load gets on to the donkey’s 
back, he has to carry it all the same,’ replied the man, with 
a sly look. ‘Now if anyone could invent something that 
would make the donkey feel that the load of hay wasn’t 
there, all the time that it was — well, I’d say electricity 
wasn’t thought of for nothing.’ 

Yet further disenchantment was discernible on the counte- 
nances of the little conclave. The weight-annihilating 
theory seemed on the point of breaking down 


THE CRUCIAL TEST. 


167 


* Listen/ the officer said, anxious to bring the man to a 
point without at the same time giving him a clue. ‘ We 
were taking off and putting on your baggage, you say, by 
machinery. Is it your impression that anything else took 
place ^ 

Again Murray looked sapience incarnate, and the admiring 
gaze of his comrade was quite touching to behold. Had he 
been Wellington himself. Barber could not have testified more 
respect. What a difference it makes, he was thinking, when 
the Almighty has given a man a tongue that seems able to 
wag of itself! Murray, in the meantime, feeling sure that 
he had much more in his own head than these gentlemen in 
their invention, made answer : 

‘ Of course, sir, when one thing takes place, a dozen are 
always there to keep it company. We were first rigged out 
and unrigged again by machinery, as I take it ; then marched 
backwards and forwards to see, I suppose, if nothing dropped 
off — if when you clap a knapsack to a man’s shoulder by 
electricity or what not, it will stick there as fast as if buckled 
and strapped by hand.’ 

There was a general smile, but a smile followed by 
depression. 

‘Then you perceived nothing else, absolutely nothing. 
Come,’ Lascelles said, feeling that he must really bring 
matters to an end. Precious time could not be wasted thus. 
‘Thin., for a moment, both of you. We halted exactly six 
times, and between each interval paced the room, say, for 
five or six minutes. Now, the first bit of walking was not 
performed under the same conditions as the second, nor the 
second as the third, and so on. Wherein consisted the 
difference ?’ 

Murray, thus driven to a corner, felt compelled to let 


i68 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


imagination run loose as before. His ingenuity was worthy 
of a Jesuit. 

‘ Well, sir, we didn’t keep the same pace. Blindfolded 
men, you see, don’t trust their feet. And now we went 
faster, now we went slower, to see, I suppose, if the things 
would stick on all the same.’ 

‘But you had not began the Captain,. fairly losing 

patience ; then correcting himself, he said : ‘ But there is 
surely another feature of the experiment you have omitted 
to mention. We want every little detail, please.’ 

Whilst Murray the wit was cogitating some subtle reply. 
Barber ventured upon a remark he felt that anyhow could 
not be held up to ridicule. 

‘ The Captain means, perhaps, the turns we took without 
our baggage at all,’ he said modestly. 

‘ That will do,’ exclaimed the chairman of the little com- 
mittee, the distinguished civilian before mentioned. ‘ Here 
is half a sovereign between you, my men, and good-day. You 
have rendered us real service, and have our best thanks.’ 

The men withdrew, and Norrice had now to receive 
encomiums and congratulations that might well have turned 
a less cool head. Not only fame but fortune was hers, said 
these grave umpires, one and all naturally unacquainted with 
the nature of her transfer to Mr. Rapham. And in the 
pleasure of recognition, Norrice forgot the irony of these 
compliments. She was too happy — she only knew that. 

But her triumphs were not yet over. As the little group 
was breaking up, one of the men took up with hat and great- 
coat a couple of bulky volumes and several periodicals 
fastened together with a strap. 

‘Blessed, thrice blessed, the mortals whose wives can 
neither read nor write !’ he said good-naturedly. ‘ I was 


THE CRUCIAL TEST, 


169 


obliged to fetch these books from Mudie’s for my wife, just 
because they are sure to be talked about at a literary party 
she is going to to-morrow. They weigh almost as much as 
a leg of mutton.* * 

In a moment Norrice was by his side, and smilingly and 
gracefully she now relieved him of his bundle. A moment 
more, and by means of her machinery, in this case of very 
delicate kind, the packet, as heavy as a leg of mutton, was 
certainly there still, but the weight was gone. 

This charming little episode was the signal for another 
round of applause. 

‘ My dear young lady,* said the foremost speaker, taking 
her by the hand, ‘ I hope you are in love with Fortune, for, 
there is no doubt of the matter, you are her darling at this 
moment. Go home and dream of Haroun-el-Raschid. All 
the splendours of his court may be yours.* 

And to this, as to all the flattering speeches that followed, ^ 
Norrice made smiling, triumphant reply. Not the closest 
observer, the most skilful physiognomist could have dis- 
cerned a sign of mortification or disappointment in that 
candid face. Even when the excitement of the trial was 
over, and she found herself bending her steps homewards, 
her expression was of pure exultant joy. For the true artist, 
the real creator, ever remains in a certain high sense imper- 
sonal. The master-spirits look far ahead. 

Praise, so sweet to most; opulence, the golden key to 
ease; fame in one’s own day — all these seem intangible, 
remote, hardly matters of individual concern. 

But the glorious conviction of having enriched his era, 
identified himself with all that stamps his age, uplifted, 
soothed or braced humanity, ah, here is subject for self-con- 
gratulation indeed I 


170 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


CHAPTER XXIL 

WHAT ROBESPIERRE IS ANSWERABLE FOR, 

As chance would have it, the very first person to hear of 
these splendid successes was Villedieu himself. 

He was awaiting afternoon tea at his club — that luxurious 
little tray sent up from the still-room on tiny lift to lazy 
bachelors — when his old acquaintance, Captain Lascelles, 
joined him. A second little tea-tray was ordered through 
the speaking-trumpet, and, in the easiest of armchairs, the 
pair began to chat. 

‘You know something of Strawton, don’t you — ^the place 
you are going to stand for ?’ asked the Captain. 

‘Yes,’ was Villedieu’s indifferent answer, as he stirred his 
tea; ‘a villainously ugly place it is, and the poorest in 
England since Chinese competition ruined the straw trade.* 

‘ The sweet spot you describe will be as much talked of 
one of these days as if suddenly swallowed up by an earth- 
quake. Do you happen to know of the existence of a 
certain Miss Norrice Bee?’ 

Villedieu, discreetly reining in his curiosity, replied with 
well affected carelessness : 

‘ Certainly. I have met her in society.* 

* A girl no older than my sister Lucy ? The very same,* 
the Captain went on. ‘ Well, she has invented something 
as wonderful as perpetual motion «and a flying machine ; 
outdone those Indian jugglers who sit upon nothing and 
make balls solid as apples disappear in the air, close under 


WHAT ROBESPIERRE IS ANSWERABLE FOR. 171 

your eye. Well, the War Office has taken her up— don’t I 
wish it were Lucy ! — and she is worth a hundred thousand 
pounds if a penny; I have that on the best possible 
authority.’ 

The other, still lazily stirring his tea, made apparently 
indiffereiit answer ; 

‘ I had heard of her clever inventions.’ 

* An uncommon kind of girl she must be,’ his companion 
went on. ‘ She gives lessons, I hear. I wish she would 
teach me how to invent something. But my notion is that 
these things are all passing into the hands of the women. 
It makes me wretched to think of it.’ 

‘ Clever mothers make clever sons, they say. We must 
follow the advice of the Frenchman, and select our parents 
with the greatest possible judgment. That is all.’ 

* I’m afraid I exercised very little judgment in selecting 
mine,’ replied the Captain. ‘ I am so terribly idle. I stroll 
here, take up a novel, and although one is exactly like 
another, as far as I can discover, I just read on, and on, and 
thus the time goes. No wonder I have never invented any- 
thing. As the invention I speak of is patented, I may give 
you some notion of it. Watch my diagram. Point A you are 
to suppose a weight — no matter ^hat kind of weight. Point 
B is the weight supporting weight A — but there goes Vincent; 
I have business with him. Will finish this to-morrow.’ 

Left alone, Villedieu found his reverie pleasant enough. 
He was charmed to hear of Norrice’s good fortune on her 
own account ; liking and interest had reached that point of 
disinterestedness long ago. He was always glad, moreover, 
to hear of good luck and successes. They came as so many 
reassurances that, in spite of the pessimists, the world is not 
going all wrong. Coupled with these kindly sentiments of 


172 


Tim PARTING OF THE WA 75 . 


universal application, came the feeling of a triumph tha 
seemed absolutely personal. 

Norrice’s future assured, Norrice possessed of the wealth 
he was without, Norrice a social power, what now stood in 
the way of his wishes ? That she liked him he had good 
reason to hope. They had been frequently thrown together 
of late. The more they saw of each other the more sympa- 
thetic they became. Yes, all things considered, he could 
speak out at once, that very evening at Lady Letitia’s ball. 
Delay, hesitation, diffidence would only complicate matters. 
And there was no telling what might happen. Norrice 
might take it into her head to travel, suddenly set off for 
Nice, Rome, the Nile. There was yet another considera- 
tion. In love he owned himself to be ; but men change 
their minds even when in love, or at least they come to see 
things in a wholly different light. 

Yet a final motive. He should soon be immersed in the 
turmoil of electioneering. It was highly undesirable to 
have other and, as he felt now, far more absorbing interests 
at stake then. He must be free. Whether freedom meant 
the realization of his wishes or profound disenchantment, 
that evening should decide. One ball is very much like 
another as far as outward circumstances go ; but if we look 
below the surface, we shall generally find a radical difference. 
The secret reasons, the little plots, the anxious hopes and 
ingenious devices, domestic intrigues and machinations at 
the bottom of these apparently innocent entertainments, 
stamp each with a character of its own. 

Lady Letitia, whose maternal instinct, or rather maternal 
arithmetic, was ever called into-, play upon these occasions, 
now expounded to her two elder daughters the teachings of 
Voltaire and the French Revolution. 


WHAT ROBESPIERRE IS ANSWERABLE FOR, 173 

* Pray/ she said, as the trio sorted out the best of their 
thrice cleaned gloves in company — ‘pray be civil to Mr. 
Rapham and Mr. Morrow. We can’t help the tendencies 
of the age. We have lived a hundred years too late. Had 
it not been for those dreadful people who stormed the 
Bastille and Robespierre, I should never, of course, have 
dreamed of a daughter of mine marrying a shopkeeper.' 

* Is a manufacturer really to be called that ?’ Grade 
asked, with an expression of mild horror. In her secret 
heart she rather liked Mr. Morrow, and for the best possible 
reason. He was the first of the other sex who had ever 
showed anything like a decided preference for herself. 

‘Not exactly ; but it really does not matter what he is — 
Mr. Morrow, I mean. Things have come to that pass, we 
must not inquire, we must not seem even to know what 
men are,’ Lady Letitia said. ‘ Society has been turned 
upside down, thanks to that bloodthirsty Robespierre and 
his set. The farms, as you know, don’t let ; or, if they let, 
the farmers won’t pay any rent, so that we who drive our 
carriage and pair are pauperized, and the only rich people 
are the people who buy and sell. Our greengrocer is wealthy 
by comparison, I dare say, if we could look into his affairs.’ 

Lady Letitia next added, glancing from one to the 
other : 

‘Then there is Mr. Rapham. Now, I cannot conceive 
any girl in her senses refusing Mr. Rapham. What is sixty 
in a man ? Men are comparatively young at that age, and 
in these days women must be satisfied with getting their 
love-making in novels, and accept an establishment and a 
good home instead. I repeat, pray be civil to Mr. Rapham. 
His appearance is peculiar, certainly, but peculiarity is all 
the fashion nowadays. And his little singularities do not 


174 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


in the least unfit him for society. On the contrary, you will 
see, wherever he goes he will be made much of. If he 
married again, his wife would enjoy quite a unique and 
enviable position.* 

The two girls could not resist a gentle laugh. There 
seemed such delicious incongruity in the picture maternal 
imagination thus conjured up. 

‘ Such men are made peers,’ Lady Letitia went on. ‘ He 
has only to put himself forward to be made a peer. And 
though people laugh at these peerages for the moment, as 
time wears on they are accepted, and nobody says anything 
disagreeable. You see, it is not of the slightest use saying 
anything disagreeable or otherwise. The Bastille was pulled 
down and Robespierre had it all his own way, and we 
cannot help ourselves.’ 

Certainly the pulling down of the Bastille and Robes- 
pierre made things pleasant that night for the rich trader 
and the retired manufacturer. Had the former been some 
renowned traveller — even the great Livingstone himself — 
had the other been an ambassador, they could not have 
been more sweetly smiled upon, more gracefully compassed 
round with sweet observances. And in the eyes of the 
assembled guests there was a reason, nay, a necessity for 
such extra attention and affability. Both were strangers in 
this social sphere ; having invited them, their hostess was 
bound to make them feel at home. Mr. Morrow could 
dance ; as the first Napoleon is said to have done before 
his marriage with Marie Louise, he had taken lessons in the 
sublime art of waltzing before attending Lady Letitia’s ball. 
He could, therefore, be safely left to her daughters ; but in 
the case of the millionaire it was wholly otherwise. Lady 
Letitia hardly quitted his arm throughout the entire evening. 


WHAT ROBESPIERRE IS ANSWERABLE FOR, 175 

He was introduced with Rapha to one fashionable guest 
after another, each introduction being accompanied by an 
ingratiating little speech. 

Mr. Rapham was enchanted, but his expressions of delight, 
naive as those of a Zulu king, called 'forth no tell-tale smile 
from his hostess. It was a whimsical sight to see the pair 
together, a mirth-moving commentary on the storming of 
the Bastille and Robespierre. Lady Letitia was the per- 
sonification of the stereotyped Vere de Vere. Mrs. Brown- 
ing, in one of her poems, speaks of the shadow of a monarch’s 
crown being softened in a maiden’s hair. Every one of 
Lady Letitia’s accessories seemed to cling to her as she 
moved about : the Hall with its tenants’ ball and Sunday- 
school treats, the park, the plate, the heraldic devices, the 
hair-powder. If the shadow of all these was somewhat 
attenuated in consequence of the storming of the Bastille 
and Robespierre, it was there nevertheless. Her brocade 
was a trifle shabby, everything she wore savoured of the tradi- 
tional ; no vulgarity of newness betrayed itself even in her 
gloves. And of course she possessed the suavity of manner, 
the survival of condescension, so easy to those who have in- 
herited a habit of fancying themselves among their inferiors. 
Mr. Rapham looked legendary also, but in a wholly different 
manner. He, too, had something of a survival about him, 
a survival that had nothing to do with armorial bearings or 
plush knee-breeches. His wizened face, with its furtive, 
fox-eyed glances, recalled untaught yet civilized man brought 
into contact with childlike savagedom or uncontrolled forces 
of nature, the primitive hunter, the filibuster, the buc- 
caneer. 

Ever on the alert even now, losing sight of nothing that 
passed around him, he seemed to fancy himself rather amid 


76 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


beasts of prey in a jungle, or antagonists wily as himself, 
than in a ballroom. If Lady Letitia carried with her a certain 
air of inherited superiority, so did Mr. Rapham, but of 
quite different origin. 

As he now looked around him there was visible satisfac- 
tion on his countenance. These fine ladies and gentlemen 
were all very well, but poor creatures when you came to 
think of it. Was there a single soul present now who could 
have done what he had done — begun life with hawking 
shoes and stockings in the streets, and end it a millionaire ? 
Lady Letitia’s complaisance pleased him mightily ; at the 
same time he took it for just as much as it was worth, no 
more. He knew as well as anyone could tell him that but 
for his money he should not be there at all. There he was, 
what mattered how? People were civil to him, what 
mattered why ? 

‘ I’m sure I am much obliged to you for your kindness to 
my daughter,’ he said, as Lady Letitia introduced partner 
after partner to Rapha. ‘ Tit for tat, I say, and one good 
turn deserves another, in high life as well as low.’ 

Lady Letitia laughed gently. She found Mr. Rapham’s 
naivete simply irresistible — worth any money, to use a 
homely expression ; but, so she said to herself, there was 
nothing shocking about it, nothing in the least bit shocking. 
Then the singularity of his appearance made people expect 
some little oddness of manner. A self-made millionaire 
affronts nobody by being an original. Who expects him to 
be a finished gentleman ? 

‘ Oh, dear Mr. Rapham, you know nothing of low life, I 
am sure !’ she said. ‘ And Miss Rapham is so charming I 
Who could help being kind to her?’ 

Now evolution has hardly reached the stage Lady Letitia’s 


WHAT ROBESPIERRE IS ANSWERABLE FOR. 177 

speech would warrant. A mother of marriageable daughters 
cannot be expected to find other girls charming. But to 
apply Mr. Rapham’s test^ so long as they seem to regard 
them in that light, what matters ? Mr. Rapham with proud 
glances watched Rapha, as in rose-coloured dress and garni- 
ture of pearls she walked through a quadrille with Villedieu. 
His hostess’s compliments pleased him mightily. 

*Yes,’ he said, ‘I think my girl would look as well at 
Court as any. I’m no Queen’s man myself. I had as lief 
see the country governed as I keep house, by contract, as 
not. But as there is a Court, I’ve set my heart on Rapha 
being seen there with her betters.* 

‘Nothing easier,* Lady Letitia replied; ‘I will present 
her myself. But now, Mr. Rapham, will you not walk 
through a quadrille with Gracie? Just one, to show that 
you do not despise our frivolities.* 

‘ Ask me to stand on my head, and I’ll try to oblige you,* 
was the answer. Lady Letitia’s proposal having come as 
double flattery. It showed Mr. Rapham, firstly, that he was 
not set down in the category of the superannuated ; and, 
secondly, that he was not looked upon as likely to want the 
aptitudes and accomplishments of a gentleman. 

Lady Letitia, for her part, would not have been put out of 
countenance had her strange guest really stood on his head. 
Everyone present was acquainted with Mr. Rapham’s history 
so far. He was known to be a self-made man, a rich 
parvenu, a mushroom millionaire. People were prepared 
for a certain number of little shocks in his presence, and 
perhaps some mild diversion. As for herself. Lady Letitia’s 
conduct was deliberate and all of a piece. She wished to 
please him, to make him feel at his ease ; above all, to in- 
terest him in Gracie and Charlotte. 


12 


178 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


‘ Bless my soul/ he ejaculated, as he stood by his tall, 
dignified, and smilihg partner, having for vis-k-vis her sister 
Charlotte and Mr. Morrow, *1 know about as much of 
dancing as an elephant of the Catechism ! However, in for 
a penny, in for a pound. I dare say if I go sprawling on 
the floor, my good neighbour there will pick me up.’ 

It really seemed at first as if such office might fall to Mr. 
Morrow, so much energy did Mr. Rapham put into his per- 
formance. He forgot that times have altered, and that the 
quadrille of to-day has nothing in common with the country- 
dance of forty years ago. His antics would have been laugh- 
able, but for his gravity and the infinite pains he was at 
to put as much animation as possible into the business. 
Whilst, then, the other three walked through the figures 
with automatic sobriety and precision, Mr. Rapham frisked, 
bounded, took little leaps in the air ; in fine, dispensed so 
inuch force and agility that he was finally out of breath, and, 
as he said to Mr. Morrow, ‘ had given himself a sweat worth 
a five-pound note ; nothing like a good sweat once in a way 
to keep a man in prime health.’ 

To Gracie, however, he gave a less homely version of the 
affair, as they sipped coffee in a snug corner of the refresh- 
ment-room. The young lady had proposed a walk in the 
conservatory, which was bluntly refused. 

‘ None of your cold, draughty glass-houses for me — unless 
you wish to see me dead and buried this day week,’ he said. 
‘Now, the very place to suit my taste at this moment would 
be by the kitchen fire.’ 

* Oh dear !’ Gracie replied, much embarrassed. The 
kitchen was, of course, to her a wholly unknown and inac- 
cessible region, the stable-boy’s rooms^not more so. 

‘Oh dear,’ she repeated, ‘but to get to the kitchen! 


WHAT ROBESPIERRE IS ANSWERABLE FOR, 179 

What a cold walk you would have ! The refreshment- 
room is quite warm, heated by hot-water pipes. Do come 
and see.’ 

Yes, the temperature of the refreshment-room was fairly 
high. Mr. Rapham, nevertheless, coolly took up a lady’s 
shawl lying near and threw it over his own shoulders. 

‘ I don’t want to lose the benefit of my warming,’ he said, 
deeming the word ‘ sweat ’ unsuited to a lady’s ears. ‘ We 
old folk can’t stand a chill.’ 

‘ Do not put yourself in that category yet,’ Gracie 
said. 

‘ Sixty is sixty. Call it young or old, as you please,’ Mr. 
Rapham replied, evidently doing his best to be agreeable. 
* You ladies may call black white ; I am not going to contra- 
dict you. I hope I am not such an ill-mannered fellow as 
that. There is my daughter, now. She says a hundred 
things a day I don’t hold with in the least, but I let her say 
her say. What harm does it do ?’ 

‘ It is pleasant to be able to say what one pleases, if one 
cannot always do as one likes,’ put in the young lady, 
beginning to think Rapha an enviable person. 

‘ Oh, she does as she likes, too. Just ask her. She 
hasn’t got a rich old father for nothing, I warrant you. Look 
at her dress ; you would never believe me if I told you what 
it cost ! She wanted to wear one she had worn before, and 
I said. No. When we are invited to grand folks’ houses, 
said I, we’ll put on the best toggery money can buy. It’s 
our bounden duty. We can’t do less.’ 

‘ It is very kind of you,’ Gracie replied. 

‘Then look at my suit!’ Mr. Rapham said with some 
vanity. ‘ It only came home from the tailor’s last night, 
and what it cost would astonish you. But fine company, 

12 — 2 


i8o THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 

like everything else, must be paid for. I don’t grudge the 
money, not I.’ 

‘ I am delighted to hear you say so,* Gracie said, for the 
life of her not knowing how to frame an answer. 

‘You see,’ Mr. Rapham went on, feeling entirely at his 
ease, ‘what one person hasn’t got in this world, another 
has ; and no matter by what other name we call it, we are 
all of us, the highest as well as the lowest, buying and 
selling from morning till night. Nobody parts with his own 
for nothing — why should he? The worth of everything, 
even a hop like this, is calculated to a penny.* 

That word ‘ hop ’ for a moment puzzled Gracie. Could 
it have anything to do with the coffee ? surely hops were 
not* used in the preparation of coffee? Her companion 
speedily enlightened her. 

‘ Even a ball like this is as much of an s. d. question 
as the buying of a pound of tallow candles. Ask her lady- 
ship yonder, your mamma. She gives her dances. I’ll be 
bound, as I do my dinner-parties, with an object ; and we 
pay our so much per head, hoping we shall get our money’s 
worth.’ 

Poor Gracie ! She made smiling reply, but the words 
struck home. Every word of Mr. Rapham’s rough satire 
was Gospel truth. We are all buying and selling from 
morning till night, and a feeling of mortification came over 
her as she thought of the strange wares sometimes brought 
to market. 


MODERN LOVE-MAKING. 


i8i 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

MODERN LOVE-MAKING. 

Meantime a very different conversation was taking place in 
another part of the refreshment-room. Admire as we will 
the storming of the Bastille and the doings of Robespierre, 
there is no doubt much to say for aristocratic chateaux and 
the feudal system generally. They favoured secrecy, they 
were useful auxiliaries in love-making. What more fatal to 
privacy than to live in a small or even a moderate-sized 
house full of people ? Not a syllable can be whispered in 
any corner without being heard by somebody, whilst all the 
conversation that goes on might as well be published in the 
newspapers as far as concealment is concerned. Very 
shocking it was of the Vendean seigneurs to make the 
peasants sit up all night scaring away the frogs, no doubt ; 
but this privilege of never being listened to, never being 
pried upon, was worth fighting for, and quite enough to 
make people forget what they owed to their fellow-creatures. 
Rich folks can still enjoy a confidential tete-h-tete^ if nqt in 
one part of the house, in another ; but to the rest of the 
world the privilege is not attainable within four walls. Love- 
making, or any other confabulation of a private nature, 
must take place out of doors. And when the world gets a 
little fuller, a trifle more crowded, the only way to insure 
this coveted luxury will be an aerial voyage. Lovers will 
have to engage a private balloon in order to say what they 
want to say to each other, without all the neighbours being 
the wiser. 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


182 

Frederick Villedieu, however, was in no dilemma of this 
kind. He had desperate confidences to pour into a lady’s 
ear, yet was as secure from eavesdroppers and observation 
as if really sailing with her amid the clouds. 

He had found a pleasant corner of the conservatory, 
behind dwarf palms and camellias. Guests came and went ; 
there was a perpetual ripple of ballroom laughter and chit- 
chat; the place was never deserted for a moment. But 
nobody paid any attention to the pair talking so quietly, 
and apparently on such matter-of-fact topics, behind the 
ferns. Villedieu had moreover, and of set purpose, avoided 
anything like marked attention to Norrice throughout the 
evening. He had only danced with her once, and at the 
close of a dance, surely a little talk with one’s partner is 
natural, even obligatory ? He began his confidences quietly 
and playfully, as if he were about to talk of matters wholly 
impersonal. 

‘ I suppose you have heard of a French king who once 
upon a time took a perilous leap P 

‘ Let me see. Let me ransack my brain,’ Norrice said, 
playful also. ‘ Did not Louis Quatorze very nearly break 
his leg one day when jumping out of a window to escape a 
severe lecture from Madame de Maintenon ? Or stay — 
how stupid I am, how ill-versed in history ! Surely it was 
the last Louis, heavy as he was, who nimbly leapt from one 
window of the Tuileries into a costermonger’s cart, as 
Napoleon, returned from Elba, jumped in at another ?’ 

‘Your historic parallels are near enough. I had 'in my 
mind, however, the gay Gascon forced to swallow the Pope 
and the Inquisition or forfeit a crown. What am I about ? 
— imitating him ! Adopting new principles, fathering new 
political creeds, for the sake of a seat in Parliament ?’ 


MODERN LOVE-MAKING, 183 

‘Fortunately the world wants but one enthusiast for 
thousands of votes/ Norrice said drily. 

‘ These perilous leaps are irrevocable, that is the worst of 
it. Poor Henri Quatre wept as he gave up his old religion. 
He knew what he had of that was sincere ; as far as the 
other went, he was on the high road to being an impostor. 
And I must say, I can sympathize with him. I feet afraid 
of becoming an impostor myself.* 

Was this the eloquent advocate of forlorn causes, the 
fiery humanitarian, the would-be redresser of crying evils ? 
Norrice could not conceal a look of disappointment, although 
his sincerity commanded respect. 

* After all,’ she said, still sportive and satirical, ‘ we must 
be interested in something. Why not in reforms as well as 
in what we are to have for dinner?’ 

‘ The getting interested is easy enough, but to remain so, 
to keep perpetually alert, ever on the qui vive, to be possessed 
by a demon of earnestness from day to day — there is the 
rub.’ 

‘Surely a happy medium is possible,’ Norrice said. ‘I 
never thought of the House of Commons as a Sinai a man 
must be a second Moses to reach. The voting in the lobby, 
too. Must you be worked up to Bacchanalian frenzy 
beforehand ?’ 

‘You evidently hold your legislators to be poor creatures,' 
he went on, amused at her sallies, but anxious that she 
should take the matter quite seriously. ‘I must tell you 
that I set out on this road not intending to be a poor 
creature at all; but convictions deliberately arrived at, 
enthusiasms taken by storm, are very difficult to hold. We 
were talking of the French king just now who swallowed his 
powder for the sake of the jam — in other words, took up a 


184 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


new religion for the sake of a throne; the parable will serve 
us more than once. I feel that I am doing the same thing. 
The jam may taste passing sweet — but the powder ! I 
dread the nauseous flavour. Were only the crown of France 
to be had for the asking, the seat at St. Stephen's without 
conditions ! Here you have parable the first. Now for 
number two. Are women, think you, ready for these perilous 
leaps, too ?’ 

He hastened to explain himself. * Well, your sex are not 
as yet asked to throw up domesticities for public life certainly, 
but there are other sacrifices ready to hand. Put this case 
before you.* 

He now went on speaking rapidly and with great anima- 
tion. ‘ A man about to embark on the sea of politics, as 
he hopes to be useful to his fellows, wants and knows where 
to find the perpetual stimulus and inspiration without which 
he must inevitably prove a failure. In the society of one 
won.an, one woman only, he feels himself lifted out of 
vacuity, soul-killing indifference, the clodship of inanition. 
Might not that woman prefer such homage, such a plea to the 
stereotyped — “ my all adorable, I cannot live without you ” ?’ 

‘ As if I could answer such a question,’ Norrice said, still 
sportive and teasing. 

‘Then, if you must needs have plainer speaking still, 
here it is. Put the question to yourself. Put it from me, 
and make answer.’ 

A look, a glance, will ofttimes do duty for many words, 
and as he turned towards Norrice, now she saw what was in 
nis mind. 

There could be no mistaking the truth. Frederick Ville- 
dieu had asked her to be his wife. His voice dropped 
almost to a whisper as he added : 


MODERN LOVE-MAKING, 


85 


‘ You are really heart-deep, soul-immersed in these ques- 
tions I have taken up so cautiously ; you are the only person 
in the world who can interest me in anything — from a radish 
to a revolution. What can I say further* in order to con- 
vince you ? Just this, I do not feel able to take my perilous 
leap alone. Unless backed by you, I am capable of playing 
the ignominious part of deserter.* 

Norrice listened in growing bewilderment. She liked and 
respected Villedieu all the more for putting the plain truth 
before her, not speaking out as lover to maiden, rather as 
one human being very much in earnest to another. Had 
he poured forth vapid sentimentalities and threadbare plati- 
tudes, she would most likely have smiled away his request 
and adjourned the hearing of his suit indefinitely. But 
this manly, straightforward outspokenness appealed to her 
sympathies ; his words, moreover, had aroused a sense of 
deep, almost passionate exultation. Next to her own indi- 
viduality, all that made up her own life, its wide hopeful- 
ness, airiness and joy, she cared most for the causes of 
which he had made himself the champion. Whilst the 
inventive faculty slumbered within, nothing interested her so 
much as certain social and political problems. To be able 
to further such movements, to breathe the very air of pro- 
gress, seemed indeed consolation for her supreme sacrifice, 
the selling of her birthright for a mess of pottage. In 
spite of outward gaiety and sparkle, she, too, had felt of late 
that she must take a perilous leap of some kind Young as 
she was, she owned at times to a feeling of intense loneliness 
and depression. This offer of marriage, then, came to 
Norrice as similar proposals to quite commonplace, purpose- 
less women. It opened wide the door of existence. It 
showed new horizons. Whilst at the bottom of her assenting 


i86 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 

mood was real liking for Villedieu, her feelings as yet did 
not go beyond. Most girls in her position would have 
indulged in feminine triumph and worldly congratulation. 
Such notions ne'^er entered her head. She recognised the 
flattery conveyed in his proposal to be of finer quality. 

They had quitted their settee behind the ferns, and were 
now strolling in the outer corridor. 

‘ The perilous leap, then ? It shall be made in com- 
pany ?’ he said, as he saw acquaintances coming up. ‘ From 
this moment you hold yourself at the beck and call of your 
country.* 

‘Have I anything better to do?* Norrice made answer, 
not without a vein of sadness underlying the playful 
words. 

‘Now, Norrice, what happened at the ball?* Mrs. Bee 
asked almost testily. ‘ Something, no matter what, but 
something, I do hope. I am quite tired of these fine doings 
from day to day, and nothing coming of them all* 

Mrs. Bee made these gaieties little occasions of festivity 
for herself. She indulged in Welsh rabbit, or some other 
delicacy, for supper, got out a piece of choice reading, piled 
the coals high in the grate, and sat up, the longer the 
better, for her gad-about, as she persisted in putting it. 
Norrice could not gad about too much to please her, but 
Mrs. Bee must fling little sarcasms and feign little griev- 
ances. Nothing delighted her more than the necessity of 
sitting up till past midnight, yet she had ever her string of 
reproaches. 

‘ I really shall go to bed the next time you are invited to 
a late party,* she continued. ‘ Think of the consumption of 
coals and candles, to say nothing of the fatigue to one of 


MODERN LOVE-MAKING. 


187 


my age. But you never seem to think of anything of the 
kind since you came into that unlucky fortune.* 

Norrice munched a slice of bread and butter in the 
highest possible spirits. Her mother’s humours never in 
the least vexed her. She knew that Mrs. Bee enjoyed the 
welcoming her home from a ball above all things. 

‘ What happened at the ball, mother ?’ she began gaily. 
‘You will never guess: Mr. Villedieu has asked me to 
marry him.* 

‘Humph!’ Mrs. Bee exclaimed scornfully; ‘you had 
nothing to say to him^ I hope, Norrice. These fine folks 
turned Radicals — one never knows what machinations they 
are up to! Then his prospects are miserable in the 
extreme. No woman in her senses would marry him. A 
more wretched outlook for a wife could not be imagined.’ 

‘ I thought you would be out of your wits with joy,’ 
Norrice said coolly. 

‘Now, Norrice,’ Mrs. Bee said, flaming up, although 
really in the best possible humour, ‘ you always set me down 
for a piece of quite abnormal vanity and selfishness. As if 
I could possibly be ple'ased to see my only child married to 
a man of that stamp ! What do we know of his morals, I 
should very much like to know ?’ 

‘ We have no reason for supposing them to be worse than 
other people’s,’ Norrice replied in the same tone. ‘He 
has, then, neither prospects nor morals. What else does 
he want ?’ 

‘Everything,’ Mrs. Bee said with emphasis. ‘There is 
Mr. Morrow, he is worth looking at. Who would ever 
dream of calling Mr. Villedieu handsome, or, for the 
matter of that, ugly. either? His looks are not worth a 
moment’s thought. Then he has no manners.’ 


i88 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


‘ I had made sure of his manners/ Norrice said, affecting 
a crestfallen air. ‘I am sorry I have deceived myself, 
mammy dear/ 

‘ As to brains,* Mrs. Bee went on quite viciously, * people 
call him clever, I know. I have no faith myself in men 
everybody runs after and calls clever. Something is sure 
to be wrong, and they turn out to be all froth and show on 
a sudden. I never heard him speak in public, certainly, 
nor do I remember ever having had five minutes* conver- 
sation with him in my life. But I am sure he is a poor 
creature.* 

‘Oh dear!* Norrice exclaimed, still gay and ironic. 
‘ Without brains, morals, manners, or even good looks I 
What a terrible list of negatives ! You will surely admit 
that he has a kind heart, and kindness of heart makes up 
for everything.* 

‘ I know nothing about his heart,* was the peevish reply. 

‘ I have always heard that if you want to find skinflints, 
nip-cheeses, and money-grubbers, you must go to the poor 
gentry. I have not the slightest doubt he is a hard land- 
lord and grinds down his tenants — that is to say, if he has 
any land.* 

‘ Alas ! Why did not your paragon, Mr. Morrow, ask me 
instead ? But you have always impressed upon me, mamma, 
that the whole duty of woman is to accept the first man who 
asks her. Had Mr. Brown, our grocer, proposed, I should 
not have ve.itured to say no.* 

‘ Do be serious for a moment, Norrice. I have been 
sitting up on purpose to hear what you had to tell me about 
Mr. Morrow. How many times did he ask you to dance 
with him?* 

‘What does it signify how many times I danced witii 


MODERN LOVE-MAKING. 


189 


Mr. Morrow, since I am going to marry Mr. Villedieu?’ 
Norrice replied laughingly. ‘So now, mamma dear, as it 
is nearly four o’clock in the morning, let us go to bed.* • 

Mrs. Bee would fain have heard about the dresses and 
the supper, but Norrice said the rest of her news must 
really wait till to-morrow. She had related the one im- 
portant event of the evening, all minor details could 
wait. 

Next morning when she went down to breakfast she 
found Mrs. Bee busy as usual. Norrice could never be 
sufficiently petted after these festivities ; she must have 
hot buttered toast, all kinds of little extras, much as if 
the ball had been a kind of ordeal now to be compensated 
for. 

‘Is the tea strong enough?’ Mrs. Bee asked *I put 
in a little more, and I took some extra milk last night 
in order that you should have some cream. I don’t care 
for such things myself; but there is no doubt of it, one 
prerogative of royalty is to have plenty of cream. And the 
toast, I do hope it is hot’ • 

‘ Excellent, mamma,’ Norrice said, smiling as she thought 
of her mother’s testiness a few hours before. These maternal 
caprices amused her beyond measure. They made the life 
of the fireside a perpetual comedy. 

‘ What could have induced you to invent that story of 
Mr. Villedieu proposing to you?’ Mrs. Bee began, in a 
reproachful voice ; ‘ I dreamed of it all night, and it is 
disappointing to find you were only joking. If there is 
one man I covet as a son-in-law, it is Mr. Villedieu — only, 
of course, I might as well covet an heir-apparent ! Such a 
finished gentleman — we may say what we will, but there is 
something in one’s family having come in with the Con- 


190 


THE PARTING OF THE WA YS, 


queror ; I can see high birth even in Mr. Villedieia's boots. 
Then no matter the fine talk nowadays about social equality 
^nd the upheaval of the masses. A lord’s son — well, he’s 
an earl’s nephew; that is near enough — an earl’s nephew 
will never look or behave like a retired tallow-chandler. I 
always particularly liked Mr. Villedieu. He treats every- 
body with so much consideration ; a kinder-hearted man, I 
am sure, does not breathe. And so clever, so gifted ! 
People may well say he will rise to the top of the tree. I 
shall not live, I dare say, to see it myself, but depend on 
it he will be Prime Minister some day. Think of my 
daughter being married to a Prime Minister! Of course, 
Mr. Morrow is all very well. He has taken great pains 
with himself, and you would never know, unless you were 
told, that he had been in trade. But when you come to 
compare the two, Mr. Villedieu and Mr. Morrow, what a 
difference, what a falling off! Hyperion to a satyr, as 
Shakespeare says.’ 

‘Ah !’ Norrice said, brimming over with fiiri and mischief. 
‘Last night the grapes were sour; that was it. Well, 
mamma, I will bear in mind what you say;. I won’t stick 
at trifles if the chance is ever put in my way of becoming 
the wife of a Prime Minister.’ 

She decided not to undeceive her mother for the 
present. The grapes should remain sour a little while 
longer. 


THE RUMBLING OP THE TEMPEST. 


191 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE RUMBLING OF THE TEMPEST. 

A FEW days later vast crowds filled the public hall of 
Strawton. It seemed, indeed, as if the entire population 
had turned out to hear Frederick Villedieu hold forth on 
the eve of the election. Whilst the platform was closely 
packed with richly-dressed ladies and gentlemen in evening 
dress, every part of the enormous building was as full as 
it could well be. Perhaps such multitudes evinced rather 
the growing interest of all classes and both sexes in political 
and social movements than any extraordinary curiosity con- 
cerning the speaker. One might indeed suppose, from the 
spectacle of these wives, mothers, and daughters of working 
men who had thus quitted their firesides in order to attend 
a public meeting, that the questions to be mooted affected 
them vitally ; it was, indeed, as if some such problem as ^he 
annexation of Alsace-Lorraine in France, or Home Rule in 
Ireland, were to be discussed before an Alsatian or Hibernian 
audience. The truth of the matter is that the interest taken 
in the commonwealth as such, and progress in the wide 
sense of the word, is often — it might almost be affirmed 
generally — keener among working women than those of 
better education and in easier circumstances. And with 
good reason ! The intensely democratic tendencies of the 
age affect them much more nearly than their more favoured 
sisters. They are, moreover, much less unprogressive, less 
hampered by social tradition and theological prejudices. 


192 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


Why should a working woman cling to the past? What 
time has she to give to religious observances ? 

On the platform, in honour of the orator, was a brilliant 
assemblage. All the magnates of the place and the neigh- 
bourhood were there, irrespective of political bearings. 
The Church, the squirearchy, civic dignity, were all well 
represented, whilst a goodly number of ladies testified to 
an interest, if not in his subjects, at least in the speaker. 
There was Lady Letitia with her elder daughters, doubtless 
attributing the necessity of their presence upon such an 
occasion to the storming of the Bastille and Robespierre. 

‘Of course you will go with me to the meeting,’ she 
had said to Gracie and Charlotte; ‘and, however much 
you may be bored, pray look interested. You see, girls 
go everywhere nowadays, and are supposed to know some- 
thing of everything. In my young days a well-bred woman 
no more thought of possessing a political opinion than an 
umbrella. I never had an umbrella when I was young, 
much less anything to say on politics. But now, no matter 
what you are, you must read the newspapers ; and as to 
umbrellas, you may carry them as big as a house. By 
the way, Gracie, talk to that clever Miss Bee about Home 
Rule, the Land Question, and so on, just to get an idea or 
two beforehand.’ 

Rapha, of course, was there, looking fresher and prettier 
than ever, in her pink draperies; and by her side, proud 
enough, sat her father. 

‘ Mr. Villedieu will like to see me on the platform to-night, 
I suppose,’ Mr. Rapham had said at breakfast. ‘ I can’t 
speak in public^ never could - but when a man can button- 
up a hundred thousand pounds in each waistcoat-pocket, he 
can leave the preaching to others.’ 


THE RUMBLING OF THE TEMPEST, 


193 


* Do go, papa dear,’ Rapha said. ‘ Mr. Villedieu would, 
i am sure, feel disappointea not to see you. It is to be the 
11 nest public meeting that nas taken place at Strawton for 
years, so it is said.’ 

‘ I may as well go as not. It won’t cost me anything,” 
Mr. Rapham answered, with extreme good-nature. ‘ And 
mind, Rapha, I like your aristocrat. If he wants you, he 
shall have you, as far as I am concerned.’ 

‘ I prefer to stay with you,’ Rapha answered. Of what 
use to pour out her girlish confidences and plead for Silver- 
thorn’s disinterested affection? There was nothing to do 
but be happy and wait. 

Then Mr. Morrow was there — the too happy Mr. Morrow, 
for the first time permitted to join Lady Letitia’s party in 
public. He had, indeed, dined at the Hall with one or two 
clericals that evening, and in their company now escorted 
the ladies. 

Mrs. Bee was absent 

‘ I thank you very much, dear Miss Rapham, for offering 
to call for me and bring me home,’ she had said to Rapha. 
‘This is exactly the kind of thing I prefer to imagine. 
Public meetings work upon my feelings too much. I always 
agree with everybody who speaks either for or against a 
question, and the wear and tear of nerve are dreadful. 
Besides, as I never can help feeling exactly as much on one 
side as on another when I come away, I don’t know where 
I am, usually speaking, any more than a traveller benighted 
on Salisbury Plain. If Norrice comes back from London 
she will be delighted to accept your offer, I am sure. But 
she has been staying with friends there since Monday. I 
don’t know how it is. When I was young, girls never 
thought of leaving home ; now they are never happy unless 

13 


194 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


they are running hither and thhher. It is true Norrice hrs 
not spent a week out of the house for five years or morfi. 
But she would have done, had she but had the chance, so it 
is the same thing/ 

Norrice was there, however, and alone. At the last 
moment, in bonnet and cloak, having a platform ticket in 
her hand, she stole to a reserved seat near Rapha and Lady 
Letitia’s party. There was hardly time for the interchange 
of a whispered word with her friends. Punctually to the 
moment, Mr. Villedieu appeared, accompanied by the 
Mayor and other leading men of the town. The proceed- 
ings began at once. 

Just as the first essential of a well-dressed woman is that 
she should look perfectly at home in her clothes, not as if 
she were dressed out for high-days and holidays, so the 
primary qualification of a public speaker is entire ease. He 
must be able to marshal his thoughts and command his 
words with the assurance and aplomb of an ofificer in charge 
of a well-drilled battalion. And this is exactly what Villedieu 
could do. He did not, perhaps, possess the siren-tongued 
art of oratory. He was no passionate declaimer, able to 
carry others away, and, what is more important, carry him- 
self away by impetuous, stormy periods, and feats of oratory. 
He was hardly argumentative, much less fierily antagonistic. 
But he could treat his audience just as the skilled novelist 
treats his readers. He could give his speech a beginning, a 
middle, and an end; not leaving out the climax, without 
which the best speech, like the best novel, is a failure, or at 
least falls flat, and seems to have no raison (Titre. In 
pleasant crisp tones, without the slightest straining after 
effect, he touched upon one social and political topic after 
another, bringing out in clear yet not over-accentuated relief 


THE RUMBLING OF THE TEMPEST, 


>95 


his own views upon each. He was evidently leading up to 
a climax — so much was apparent to all who followed his 
utterances, and were sufficiently in sympathy with him to 
understand not only the suggestions thrown out by the way, 
but the undercurrent of ideas. 

He had spoken for upwards of an hour, leaving no im- 
portant question of the day, as it affects politicians, un- 
touched, when he suddenly took a more impressive tone, 
and surveyed his audience with an air of earnest, almost 
solemn scrutiny and appeal. His looks seemed to say- 
now for the crucial test, now for the palmary proof, not of 
your intelligence — were it called into question, the matter in 
hand is transparent as daylight — but of your disinterested- 
ness, your fellowship with the sympathetic or unsympathetic 
part of humanity ! — what of that ? This was in Villedieu’s 
face, were any present physiognomist enough to see. In a 
quicker, more animated key, he began : 

‘ We have, as I take it, arrived at an epoch of civilization 
when it behoves every man and every woman to be Pro- 
testant in the wider, non-theological, I would say the 
Goethean, sense of the word. Everybody, of course, knows 
the famous aphorism of the great German poet : We must 
protest. In former days even inhabitants of civilized 
climates had enough to do to keep a whole skin. Scant 
time had the most good-natured — philanthropy was not as 
yet invented — to look after his neighbour’s welfare. But in 
these times we can, at least, call our souls— whatever our 
souls may be ! — our own. We are bound, I say, to protest, 
on behalf of those unhappy beings who cannot, no matter to 
what race, to what zone of the globe they belong, and what 
appears worse still, whose very bodies do not belong to them ; 
who, whilst human beings by virtue of conscious wrong, are 

13 — 2 


196 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


treated like so much cattle — flesh, bone, and muscle estimated 
at so much a pound ! It is easy enough, when we think of 
it, to understand how naturally even civilized and polite 
nations in the past have countenanced and upheld slavery. 
If evolution has taught us nothing else, it has taught us this. 
Feeling, justice, disinterestedness, all the higher sentiments 
that animate the mind, are of slow growth, as much the 
fruit of development as decency, morality, truth speaking, 
and other arbitrary virtues. For any nation to have arrived 
at an abhorrence of slavery, to have made up its mind that 
to tolerate it in any part of its dominions was wickedness 
incarnate, the most horrible injustice that can make a hell 
upon earth, and work awful retribution ; for any nation to 
have done this, I say, is an immense stride forward, its title 
of honour for all time ! But now that Ariel’s prophecy is 
fulfilled, and the entire globe is brought under the micro- 
scopic eye of public opinion, our initiation, our responsi- 
bilities, do not, ought not to stop here. Wherever the 
Englishman or the free man plants his foot, wherever he 
pitches his tent, there, in his person, ought to be the slave’s 
advocate, the slave’s protector ! Before his presence, humble 
Messiah of the oppressed, the helpless, and the unhappy, 
the eyes of the vile slave-dealer, the accursed trafficker in 
human flesh, should quail as before a Heaven-sent avenger, 
as Belshazzar trembled when he saw “ Mene, Mene, Tekel, 
Upharsin ” written on the wall !* 

There was a tremendous burst of applause. The vast 
building rang from end to end with such cheers as only some 
humanitarian appeal can evoke. It was some minutes before 
the speaker could go on. 

* But what is the truth ?’ he said, as if putting the query to 
each individual present. ‘ What is the shameful, hum iliating, 


THE RUMBLING OF THE TEMPEST. 


197 


conscience-smiting truth ? Who can help blushing to own 
it ? With the teachings of history before us, inheritors as we 
are of the Wilberforces, the Clarksons, of all the great 
makers of liberty, boastful as we are of our noble legacy, we 
have not yet shaken off this accursed taint of slavery. There 
are still Englishmen in remote regions of the globe who 
fatten upon this unnatural barter of men, women, and 
children for money, to whom human beings are so much 
merchandize to be paid for in gold. And this gold, stained 
as it is with the blood of their fellows, they pocket smugly ! 
Conscience permits them, lenient society also permits them, 
to carry on their nefarious trade unmolested ; whereas they 
should be tracked down as they track the unhappy runaways 
from their own tyranny, branded with shame and infamy, 
visited by the obloquy and detestation of every right- 
minded fellow-citizen. For let no one now bring forward 
sophisms that served the anti-abolitionists before the great 
war of secession, let no one persuade himself that slavery can 
be so softened as to come within the pale of morality. If 
the slave-owner is not inheVently cruel, he perforce becomes 
so ; if he originally possessed even elementary notions of 
right and wrong, he loses them ; if he set out furnished, 
perhaps unconsciously to himself, with notions of pity and 
benevolence borrowed from Christianity, he soon forfeits 
these also. The whip, the chain, the branding-iron, are not 
to be used in one sense, that the highest, with impunity. 
The illegal owner of another human being — for the State 
certainly takes possession of the lawless body and soul out 
of consideration for the general safety — the slave-owner, I 
say, by the mere unnaturalness of the right thus arrogated 
to himself, becomes him.self a slave, is unhumanized, de- 
graded, brutified !’ 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


igS 

Once more there was a thunder of applause. Then the 
speaker quietly and swiftly brought his speech to a close. 

‘ I purpose, therefore, if I have the honour to represent 
you in the next Parliament, to propose the following motion : 

“ That an inquiry be made into the action of Englishmen 
implicated in the slave-trade now actively and with impunity 
carried on at Khartoum and other stations of the Soudan, 
with a view to stopping a system so disgraceful to humanity, 
and so blackening to the nationality we are proud to call 
our own.” * 

Yet a third outburst of cheering, which, however, the 
orator deprecated, adding, in brief, business-like tones : 

‘In view of any possible action I may be obliged to 
take in this matter, and having now said all I had to say to 
you, I propose to call upon my excellent friend and neigh- 
bour to give us the benefit of his experience. Mr. Rapham, 
the new-comer we have lately had the pleasure to welcome 
among us, has spent many years in Central Africa ; I ask 
him, therefore, now to say a few words, and throw any 
light that he can upon this dark, this impious, this odious 
business.* 

All eyes were now turned to the odd, spare figure in 
evening dress, seated between Lady Letitia and his pretty 
daughter. Mr. Rapham was no popular favourite at Straw- 
ton. He had done nothing to make himself so. Yet it 
was only natural, only becoming, he should receive an 
ovation now. His presence, anyhow, indicated sympathy 
with his fellow-townsmen, interest in local affairs. And the 
more good you get out of a man, the more you are likely to 
get. Compliments, moreover, cost nothing. So hats were 
waved, sticks drummed on the floor, hands clapped, and 
‘ Mr. Rapl am ! Mr. Rapham !’ shouted by a thousand 


THE RUMBLING OF THE TEMPEST, 


199 


throats. Villedieu, meantime, had turned with a pleasant 
smile to his supporter, and retired a step or two jn order to 
make way for him. Lady Letitia and her daughters smiled ** 
encouragingly. Rapha’s face beamed with satisfaction. 
The mayor and other dignitaries of the place showed 
respectful curiosity. Everybody was on the qui vive as 
Mr. Rapham rose from his chair, apparently to obey the 
call. But on a sudden a totally different expression might 
be seen on all the thousands of upturned faces in that vast 
and closely-packed hall. A wave of dismay, a thrill of 
horror, seemed to pass over the dense masses as though one 
man. You might have heard the dropping of a handker- 
chief, so intense, so painful was the silence. 

Mr. Rapham now staggered forward with the livid face 
of a man at bay. His eyes, abnormally bright with ill- 
suppressed fury, fastened upon Villedieu as upon his dead- 
liest enemy. Lifting an arm, as if by some superhuman 
effort, to fell him to the ground, or perhaps to emphasize the 
imprecations all should hear, he seemed about to spring 
upon him. 

‘You * 

The curse, whatever it might be, failed to reach the ears 
of the crowd; perhaps, indeed, it hardly escaped the 
speaker’s white lips. The next moment he dropped down 
apparently lifeless on the platform, and, amid a scene of the 
greatest confusion, was borne out of the hall. 

‘ Is he dead ? Is he dead ?’ asked one anxious inquirer 
after another. The general feeling was of intense sympathy 
for Rapha. Everybody in Strawton had by this time made 
the acquaintance of the rich man’s pretty, generous daughter. 

Villedieu having retired for a few minutes, came forward 
and endeavoured to reassure the public mind. A couple o 


200 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


doctors were already in attendance. The case was most 
probably one of syncope ; a bulletin should be issued early 
next morning. Under the circumstances, however, it was 
advisable to terminate a meeting begun under such favour- 
able auspices, interrupted so disastrously. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

DISILLUSION. 

Next day an engaging little breakfast for two was set out 
in Frederick Villedieu’s bachelor quarters near Piccadilly. 
Freshly cut hot-house flowers lay on the table, and abund- 
ance of chrysanthemums filled the window-sill. Such 
magically-coloured flowers, for out of Japan indeed they 
seem so, the ruddy tints of carpets and curtains, the bright 
fire blazing in the pretty porcelain stove, the glittering plate 
of the breakfast service — these things really have power to 
dispel London fog and outer gloom. They force upon us 
the conclusion that, after all to be said on the other side, 
London is the most cheerful place in the world even in 
November. We get blue skies and violets in Algeria, it is 
true, but at what a sacrifice ! If the ozone of the London 
atmosphere is exhausted, we breathe at least an ozonized 
intellectual atmosphere, which is more than compensation 
to naturally inquisitive, emotion-loving beings. To what 
good to feed the lungs and starve the brains ? 

The first thing Villedieu did on entering the room was to 
select a rose from the ^pergne, carefully trim off the thorns 
with his penknife, then place it on the plate awaiting his 
visitor. ► He next glanced at the outside of his letters, and 


DISILLUSION, 


201 


opened a telegram, which he read and re-read attentively. 
Finally, he stood with his back to the fire, glancing im- 
patiently towards the door. 

A minute or two later it was opened gaily, and Norrice 
came in — rather, it seemed to his eyes, some apparition of 
spirit, love, and beauty that had taken up its abode with him. 
He folded her in his arms, much as if they had been separated 
for hours or days, rather than just thirty minutes, and kissed 
her on brow, cheek, and lips, then presented his rose, and 
very deftly fastened it to her dress. 

‘ Do tell me the news from Strawton,’ were her first words, 
as she took her place before the tea-urn. ‘ Mr. Rapham, 
what has happened to him ?’ 

‘I have a telegram from Miss Rapham,’ he replied, 
his face clouding over ; ‘ she says that her father’s attack 
is not serious, and tha he oarticularly wishes to see me.’ 

‘ Do you really, really think it can be as you say ?’ asked 
Norrice; ‘that he has made his large fortune as a slave- 
trader?’ 

‘ I have no doubt of it. It is a very awkward dilemma 
for me. Under the circumstances I must apologize, you 
see,’ he added, transferring a delicate morsel to her plate ; 
‘ had I had so much as an inkling of the truth, I should 
never have opened my lips on the subject at Strawton. What 
I might say elsewhere would be a wholly different matter.’ 

‘ How sorry I am for Rapha ! Thjnk of living in such 
splendour, and knowing the origin of it ! Were I that 
man’s daughter, I should feel ready to run away.’ 

‘ She knows where to run to. That is one comfort,’ 
Villedieu said, complacently munching his toast. ‘Silver- 
thorn is over head and ears in love with her if ever any 
man was.’ 


202 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


* Supposing what you say is true, and the truth comes out, 
Rapha will feel her position acutely.* 

‘Other people won’t; she may find balm of Gilead in 
that fact. You see, my dear child, the world doesn’t care 
two straws how a man has come by his money. The great 
thing is to have got it Society ignores antecedents, and 
if it did not, where would society be ? I am sorry to say so, 
but, one and all, we must occasionally shut an eye to the 
cloven foot.* 

‘You would never countenance such a man yourself?* 
Norrice said. 

Villedieu made a wry face. 

‘ I can’t say what I should do with regard to generals. 
When we come to particulars, I have no choice. As I say, 
this business is a very embarrassing one. Rapham was the 
very last person I ought to have affronted just now. He 
has behaved very handsomely to me.* 

Norrice smiled at the bare notion of Mr. Rapham having 
behaved handsomely to anyone. 

Villedieu went on ; 

‘ I must run down to Strawton, it seems, but T shall come 
back at once. We will have lunch here, and I can take you 
with me wherever I have to go afterwards.* ' 

They chatted on about the day’s programme, Villedieu’s 
high spirits, Norrice could see that, alternating with an 
anxious mood. The Strawton telegram was evidently some- 
thing more than a vexation, the occurrence of the evening 
before no mere unlucky imbroglio All a bridegroom’s joy> 
love, and exhilaration were there still, but the light-hearted 
carelessness so habitual to him at all times now seemed 
fitful. 

Nevertheless, that little breakfast was full of witchery to 


DISILLUSION, 


203 


both. They found themselves in that stage when affection 
takes the shape of overweening admiration for each other. 
Norrice was thinking how wonderful it was that, after their 
matter-of-fact courtship and unceremonious marriage, the 
very notion of being in love hardly occurring to her, she 
should now feel in the closest, tenderest sense of the word 

to belong to him, entirely at ease with him alike in 

* 

matters of gravest import as well as the merest trifle, all 
barriers of timidity broken down, the husband and wife of 
three days only, now comrades, friends, familiars, without a 
secret ! 

She was thinking, too, how little she had understood this 
generous, manly, warm-hearted nature till now. Here was 
a man courted by society, having the fairest prospects, him- 
self endowed with some of Nature’s choicest gifts, married 
to an obscure woman-teacher without fortune, without 
rank, without a single worldly advantage ! The sacri- 
fice was all on his side, and he had made it because he 
loved her ! She took comfort in the thought that, at least, 
she could be useful to him in many ways, and that this new 
existence, a duality to be understood by the wife only, not 
the maiden, would be, from his point of view as well as her 
own, a sweet, a delicious dependence. Villedieu, in turn, 
took the matter quite as enthusiastically, although after 
wholly different fashion. Mysterious it was, yet so it was, 
that marriage,- if it did nothing else, made the breakfast- 
table more interesting. To say nothing of feelings too 
deep to be lightly touched upon, it was delightful to him 
to see this handsome, sparkling creature at the head of 
his table, to find out every day some new charm, some 
new magnetic attraction, and be able to say, ‘She is my 
own I* 


204 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


Yes, herein lay the paramount joy and self-congratulation 
of this man of the world, this hitherto easy-going bachelor, 
suddenly waked up to the fact that he was caught in 
the toils of matrimony. The only woman I ever found 
interesting, the woman I held superior to all others, she is 
my own ! 

Breakfast over, Norrice sat down at. his escritoire to write 
an apologetic word to her mother. Her holiday must last a 
few days longer, she said, and that was all. 

Meantime, Villedieu, smoking his matutinal cigar : * What 
a comfort to have a wife who did not object to the fumes 
of tobacco !’ he reflected, as he carelessly opened one 
letter after another ; finally, once more, he took up Rapha’s 
telegram. 

‘Norrice,* he said, when he had read and re-read it, 
‘come here.’ 

She put down her pen, and sat down on the arm of his 
chair, steadying herself by one hand laid on his shoulder. 

‘ What is it ?’ she asked playfully ; ‘ addresses to draw up, 
lists to make out, accounts to look over ? I am anxious to 
enter upon my secretaryship.’ 

‘ I want to have a business talk with you,* he said ; ‘ but 
before entering upon it, just one word.’ 

He took her in his arms, and once more kissed her 
once, twice, thrice — kisses that made tears of joy rise to 
her eyes. 

‘ One little word. We are all in all to each other, are we 
not, and the rest doesn’t matter a straw ?’ 

For answer she caught his disengaged hand — the other 
clasped her own — and held it to her cheek. It was 
a moment of unspeakable, delicious understanding and 
emotion to both. 


DISILLUSION. 


205 


‘Well,’ he said, when they had recovered themselves, ‘I 
must be off in a quarter of an hour, so let us lose no time. 
Just tell me one thing. What have you done with the 
money you made by your invention ?’ 

She broke into a merry laugh, not in the least divining 
his thoughts. 

‘ What should I do but spend it ? We wanted so many 
things, mamma and I. That red dress you admire so much, 
these shoes you have noticed also, I bought them, and 
much more besides/ 

‘ Of course,’ he said, with just a show of impatience. ‘ I 
know well enough you would buy what you wanted, and 

quite right too. But the surplus ?’ 

♦ 

Still much amused, Norrice answered gaily : 

‘ There was a little over, it is true. That we put in the 
bank. Twenty pounds, I think.’ 

‘ You don’t understand me in the least, dearest,’ Villedieu 
said, himself puzzled by her light-minded mood. ‘Just 
listen a moment: I am in a most awkward position with 
regard to Mr. Rapham. He made over to me— did I not 
tell you ? — a thousand pounds towards the expenses of my 
election. A great part of the money has gone already. 
But I am compelled, under the circumstances, to reim- 
burse' it at once. Keep the money of a man I am 
supposed to have openly insulted 1 I would rather pawn 
my clothes.’ 

Norrice was silent. She did not as yet see the real drift 
of his discourse; but one thing was clear as day. Her 
husband wanted money immediately, and was casting about 
where to get it. Her thoughts recurred to her modest 
savings ; Rapha’s generosities had lately somewhat enriched 
her ; she had also been enabled to lay by other small sums, 


2o6 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


the result of extra lessons. She could help him a little, she 
thought cheerfully. 

‘Now,’ Villedieu went on, brief and business-like, ‘we 
need not stand on ceremony with each other, I am sure. 
You will give me the money I owe. That is why I ask 
what has become of your trump-card, the thousands of 
pounds — how much was it ? — paid for your invention by the 
War Office ?’ 

Norrice’s face sharpened with sudden anguish, the pang 
of keen, affectionate solicitude. She had not only forfeited 
her birthright for a mess of pottage, she had forfeited the 
power to help the one being she adored. 

‘ Oh !’ she cried ; ‘ I ought to have told you. Did you 
not know it? I sold my invention to Mr. Rapham for a 
hundred pounds !’ 

‘Sold — it — for — a — hundred pounds!’ was all Villedieu 
could stammer forth. He turned from crimson to white. 
Anger, dismay, bitterest consternation, were written on his 
working features. 

‘ Dear,’ Norrice said with tearful persuasion, ‘you do not 
know what pressure was put upon me. I had not had 
many pupils for the past year. My mother urged me to 
accept the money. It seemed a good deal to us.’ 

‘ The scoundrel !’ Villedieu muttered between his teeth, 
and, as he sat pondering over the matter, his looks grew 
darker and darker. ‘ The scoundrel ! But why did you 
not take advice ? What could induce you to act so rashly ?’ 
he said, turning to Norrice with almost stern reproach in 
voice and look. 

Norrice rose from her place beside him, and, standing by 
the window, wiped away her tears. She would be strong 
and calm. 


DISILLUSION. 


207 


Villedieu rose also, but he did not go up to her, or try to 
undo the effect of his stinging words. It was not that he 
felt unsympathetic, that Norrice’s sorrow did not pain him 
deeply; but the practical, the worldly, the masculine 
common-sense view of the case was uppermost. The per- 
sonal also ! This confession meant ruin for him, or, at 
least, the shipwreck of his hopes and plans. He had 
counted on this money as a certainty. He had married 
not only the woman he loved, but, as he supposed, an 
heiress — the heiress of her own rare genius, one whose 
self-earned wealth would suffice for both. Coupled with 
these feelings was the humiliating sense of being check- 
mated, befooled, cheated, so he put it, by a man like 
Rapham. 

Not satisfied with making chattels of human flesh, for- 
sooth, the old miscreant must fatten on the brains of 
women, still further enrich himself at the cost of a girl’s 
genius ! The more and more he thought of these things, 
the more indignant he became. Not that he was angry 
with Norrice. At bottom his feeling for her was as tender 
as ever. But he did feel that she had disappointed him 
so far. He had expected more discretion, more judgment ! 
Intellectually, for the moment, she had lowered herself in 
his eyes. 

‘ The old villain he said, as he stood thus with his back 
to the fire, and a veritable thundercloud upon his brow ; 
‘ and I must go and be civil to a Shylock like that, simply 
because I haven’t a thousand pounds ! But I won’t. I’ll be 
— I’ll be — hanged first !’ 

‘ Dearest,’ Norrice said, now going up to him collected- 
ness itself — she accepted her position with proud resignation 
— ‘dearest, do be persuaded by me, and put off that journey 


208 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


to Strawton for a day or two. No good can come of it in 
the humour in which you now are.^ 

She put one arm within his, and looked up at him plead- 
ingly. 

• Villedieu gave a scornful laugh. 

‘And what humour would you have me in? Answer me 
that. No, Norrice, Rapham ought not to be spared ; and 
he won’t be spared by me, whether I meet him to-day or a 
year hence.’ 

‘After all,’ she urged, ‘Mr. Rapham is less to blame than 
you seem to think, with regard to my invention. He was 
the first person to offer me any money for it at all. And 
Rapha has been very generous ; she has tried to make up 
for what might seem undue advantage taken of me. For 
Rapha’s sake let the matter drop.* 

But Villedieu’s wrath was not to be appeased. He hardly 
seemed sensible of her caresses. 

‘ The inevitable woman’s argument !’ he said. ‘ Murderers 
are not to feel the rope, rascality is to be condoned, all kinds 
of wickedness passed over — for somebody’s sake 1 — ^to save 
soil, i’body’s feelings ! Nice legislators you will make when 
you get seats beside us in the House. I’m a man, and I 
feel differently. I see things as they are. And I punish a 
rascal whenever I can get hold of him with the greatest 
pleasure alive. But my hands are tied in the accursed 
business. I can’t kick a man downstairs so long as I owe 
him a thousand pounds !’ 

‘I have a little laid by,’ Norrice said soothingly, ‘and we 
must see how we can make up the rest. Do not waste 
another thought about the money Mr. Rapham made by m> 
imvention,’ she added with fond insinuation. ‘We can live 
upon very little ; we shall not be less happy.* 


DISILLUSION. 


209 


* Once more woman^s logic !* Villedieu cried, no nearer 
his old self yet. ‘Listen, Norrice; you have common-sense 
as well as genius ; you are, you know that well enough, the 
only woman I would ever have married on any account 
whatever, and I married you simply and solely because I 
loved you. But I have hinted my circumstances. Would 
any man be so reckless, so insane, as to marry in such a 
position, unless his wife had something ? That is the naked, 
the unvarnished, the detestable truth. We are penniless 
adventurers, and the best thing we can do is to give up this 
election, start for Monte Carlo, and try our luck at the 
gambling table — unless you can solve the nice little problem 
more satisfactorily? But don’t worry. Worrying won’t 
undo your mad bargain and our miserable plight I I’ll be 
back, as I said, as quickly as I can.’ 

He dropped a hasty kiss on her passive cheek, and 
hurried downstairs. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

THUNDER-CLOUDS. 

Mr. Rapham had not been attacked by apoplexy or paralysis. 
So far the good Strawton folks were reassured next day. 
His sudden illness was a mere syncope or fainting-fit, brought 
on by some cause unknown. The heat of the crowded hall, 
over-exertion beforehand, the excitement of being unex- 
pectedly called upon to speak in public, were one and all 
circumstances, the doctors said, sufficient to account for 
such a seizure. A few days’ rest and quiet, and all would be 
well. Thus ran the popular version, and everybody rejoiced 
for his daughter’s sake, that the old man was hardly the 
worse for his swoon. 


14 


210 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


Rapha, however, saw matters in a wholly different and 
truer light. The whole affair, indeed, was to her a terrible, 
an appalling revelation. Up till the last moment she had 
heard Villedieu unsuspectingly, his disclosures awakening 
no personal feeling, only the indignation of a generous and 
humane nature. She had even smiled with pride and 
pleasure at hearing her father called upon to speak, and at 
his apparent willingness to take part in a movement so 
honourable to mankind. But no sooner did she catch that 
look of his directed towards the speaker, that fixed expression 
of mingled shame, hatred, and vindictiveness, than she 
realized the truth. 

In asking her father to stand by him, and add his testi- 
mony to the damning facts just adduced, Villedieu asked 
him to become his own accuser, blacken himself in the eyes 
of all, cover his name with perpetual ignominy. 

She now recalled not one, but a thousand circumstances 
that strengthened this conviction. There was the incident 
at the German fair, the little negro boy he had offered to 
purchase for her as a matter of course; she remembered 
well how the proposal shocked her at the time, and the 
uneasy surmise awakened, to be afterwards set at rest, if not 
wholly forgotten. Then his abrupt refusal to speak of the 
past, or the origin of his swiftly amassed wealth — was this 
the natural behaviour of a father in dealing with his only 
child? Must there not be some strong reason for such 
concealment ? 

She went downstairs next morning with a careworn face, 
to find, to her surprise, the doctors dismissed and the 
patient up and dressed, drinking his coffee as usual. 

‘ I’m not ill,’ he said, seeing her look of surprise. * Can’t 
a man turn giddy, and lose bis feet in a room like an oven, 


THUNDER-CLO UDS, 


21 


without having to pay half a score of doctors ? I’m as well 
as you are.’ 

I'he only indication of past disturbance was an unnatural 
pallor, but the pallor of suppressed rage, not of sickness ; 
the whiteness so much more shocking to the beholder than 
that caused by bodily weakness. 

‘ But I am not going to be bullied by Mr. Villedieu nor 
anybody else. And so I shall let him know. You sent my 
telegram the first thing this morning, you say?’ 

Rapha murmured a word of assent, and listened for what 
was coming, sick with apprehension. Her father seemed 
quite disposed for confidences now. 

‘ What concern is it of that fellow Villedieu, or of any man 
living, how I made my money, I should very much like to 
know ? I spend it handsomely enough ; as I am always 
saying, the more a man spends, the more he gives away. It 
is the same thing as charity.’ 

‘ Oh, papa !’ Rapha said, in a voice of anguish. * It is 
not true — tell me it is not true ? You did not become so 
rich by buying and selling slaves ?’ 

All her composure was gone now ; she made no further 
pretence of breakfasting. With head bowed down and rest- 
ing her cheek on one hand, she looked steadily into her 
plate ; she dared not confront his eye just then. 

Mr. Rapham pretended not to see her agitation. He 
took refuge in brief business-like tones. 

‘ Now, Rapha, you are no infant in arms. You must know 
that this fine talk about the niggers is all hocuspocus and 
fiddle-de-dee. I am not going to say that I ever w^nt into 
the slave-trade or that I didn’t. But don’t you let anyone 
make you believe that black people are like white. I’ve 
seen enough of ’em, I sure, and I can tell you one thing. 

14 — 2 


212 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


Lucky enough are they when they are sold, as it is called, 
when they do get someone to feed, house, and look after 
them. Then as to a flogging some of them get now and then, 
the lazy loons, do you suppose they would do a good day’s 
work without? They haven’t the feelings we have; their 
skins are tougher. Providence designed them for slavery, 
just as horses are designed to drag beer-drays.' 

Rapha listened with growing horror and repulsion, unable 
to get out a word. To have listened to such sentiments 
under any circumstances would have been a painful task, 
but when the speaker was her own father 1 

Hot tears, which he did not see, ran down her burning 
cheeks ; she still sat with head resting on her hand and eyes 
bent down. 

‘Then as to the cant about husbands and wives being 
separated,’ Mr. Rapham went on, speaking in a deeply in- 
jured voice, ‘ black folks have no morals ; how should they, 
naked savages as they are ? One woman is as good to a 
man as another. And the children ! Would you leave the 
poor little imps to fathers and mothers unable to take care 
of themselves ? They are a thousand times better off with 
a good master.' 

‘Then you did make your money that way?’ Rapha 
asked, in a faint voice. 

‘I am not going to be cross-questioned,’ Mr. Rapham 
said curtly. ‘Your business is to spend my money, not to 
trouble your head how it was come by ; fairly it was, that 
I can tell you. I have never put a finger into another man’s 
pocket, as some men are constantly doing, and yet pass for 
respectable. What on earth are you crying for ?’ 

It was in spite of herself that Rapha gave way to emotion 
now. She saw that her father had not recovered from the 


THUNDER.CLO UDS, 


2iZ 


occurrence of the night before. He was haggard, feverish, 
irritable ; not at all himself, either mentally or physically. 
No moment this for unburdening herself to him, speaking 
the inmost thought of her mind. 

But the shock had been too great. The awful revelation 
of the last few hours seemed to pull up her happy, careless 
life of yesterday by the roots. These abhorred doctrines 
were upheld by her own father ; the most odious practices 
by which money can be amassed were tacitly avowed by 
him. It seemed to her on a sudden that this wealth, making 
existence so sumptuous and easy, no longer belonged to her 
■ — that the very pieces of gold in her purse were stained 
with human blood ! 

‘What the deuce are you crying for?’ Mr. Rapham re- 
peated. His was not the kind of nature to be softened by 
a woman’s tears ; feminine influence must be exercised in a 
wholly different way. It displeased rather than grieved him 
to see her weeping. And, as was only natural, he attributed 
her tears to the wrong cause. ‘ Don’t you suppose for a 
moment that Mr. Villedieu or anyone else is going to do us 
any harm. Whether he meant to insult me or not ’ 

‘ Oh ! he would not have spoken had he known ’ 

Rapha got out. 

‘ He would not, you think ?’ Mr. Rapham said, with a 
tone of evident relief. ‘ Well, I have a hold upon him, 
anyhow. I can shut his mouth fast enough. There is 
nothing to cry about, I tell you. Who is to know what my 
business was in the Soudan ? And I was not the only one 
there on the same errand,’ he chuckled; ‘I was kept in 
countenance. But wherever I am, I keep my affairs close. 
I take care to be on the right side. So just finish your 
breakfast, and leave crying to babies.’ 


214 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


He went away and shut himself in his room awaiting 
Villedieu, impatiently and aggressively enough. Rapha’s 
tears had made him feel positively morose. He was, more- 
over, if not ill, at least ill at ease ; his limbs would be seized 
with sudden tremblings, he was a prey to uncontrollable 
restlessness and irritation. 

True enough, Villedieu made his appearance ; he, too, in 
no enviable frame of mind. But he was in the flower of 
life, on the threshold of a brilliant career, a happy bride- 
groom ; hateful although this errand, he could be easy, 
collected, even cheerful. He was, moreover, a man of the 
world, and the first canon of worldly wisdom is to avoid 
exasperation. During that short railway journey he had 
m ;de up his mind under no circumstances to quarrel with 
the old trader. Diplomacy would serve him better. And 
who could tell ? diplomacy might not only extricate him 
frc m his present dilemma, but cancel, or at least modify, his 
wife’s rash bargain. He was not going to sell his conscience 
for filthy lucre. Having put his hand to the plough, he was 
not going to turn back ; in other words, to falsify that 
promise about the slave-trade. ‘ But State-directed inquiry 
would hardly touch a man in Mr. Rapham’s pos'ition. 

‘ Good - morning, Mr. Rapham,’ he began, offering his 
hand with easy aplomb ; in such encounters it is ever the 
best-bred man who gets the advantage. ‘ I hope, sir, you 
have recovered from your indisposition of last evening.’ 

‘ I am well enough,’ Mr. Rapham replied with some em- 
barrassment, and, as he spoke, he turned his back on his 
visitor, ostensibly to draw down the blind, in reality to hide 
a blush he felt conscious of. ‘ I am subject to such things 
— dizziness in the head, I mean, the effect, I take it, of 
living in a country as hot as — a baker’s oven,’ omitting tho 


THUNDER-CLO UDS, 


215 


objectionable epithet all but on his lips. * But now, I Ve a 
word to say to you, Mr. Villedieu. Had you, or had you 
' not, Ralph Rapham in your mind when making those fine 
speeches last night ?’ 

‘ I assure you, sir,’ was the frank reply, as Villedieu met 
that close scrutiny uncowed, ‘ personalities were as far from 
my mind when alluding to the slave-trade in the Soudan as 
when speaking of Chinese competition in local industries 
the moment before.’ 

‘ I don’t see how you could serve yourself by throwing 
dirt at me,’ Mr. Rapham went on, still looking fixedly at his 
visitor. ‘ What the slave-trade is and is not, we will talk of 
some other time. You just believe everything you see in 
the newspapers ; that, however, is neither here nor there. 
You and I have something else to talk about just now. I 
have gone out of my way to oblige you, Mr. Villedieu.’ 

‘ I am fully sensible of my obligations to you, sir,’ Ville- 
dieu answered. There was nothing else for him to do but 
compromise; his mind had been made up on that point 
beforehand. 

‘ And one good turn deserves another,’ Mr. Rapham began 
meaningly ; ‘ I take it a gentleman like yourself would not 
accept a thousand pounds from a man one day, and spot 
him as a blackguard the next ?’ 

‘ Certainly not.’ 

* Certainly not ! certainly not ! I must have something 
more to the purpose than that,’ was the half-ironic reply. 

‘ Your position is as clear as daylight, Mr, Villedieu. You 
must drop your high-flown nigger theories or drop me.’ 

‘ I quite understand you,’ Villedieu made answer, with 
easy assurance ; what would he not have given to have been 
able to band out a draft for a thousand pounds at that 


2i6 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


moment ! * Two courses are clearly open to me. I free 

myself from pecuniary obligations to you, or I leave ques- 
tions that might possibly compromise your reputation to 
others.* 

Mr. Rapham pondered: ‘So far so good,’ his face 
said. 

‘ I don’t care two straws about my own reputation,’ he 
replied bluntly. ‘lam safe enough. No man on earth can 
harm me. But there is my daughter to think of.’ 

Once more he scrutinized his visitor as if fain to read his 
inmost thoughts. This time the keenly inquisitorial look 
was carelessly ignored. Villedieu listened with polite atten- 
tion, that was all. 

‘You see,’ Mr. Rapham continued, ‘I can’t have any- 
thing come out that would create unpleasantness — damage 
my daughter’s position in society. We must come to terms, 
you and T. You want money ; I’ve got it. Throw the 
nigger question overboard when you get into Parliament, 
and I’ll be — I’ll be a father to you !’ ejaculated the trader 
with effusion. 

Villedieu now saw the trap that was being laid for him, 
but he had prepared for such an emergency beforehand. 
Nothing should induce him to compromise himself in the 
way Mr. Rapham proposed. His position, he owned, was 
about as awkward and harassing as a man’s could be ; the 
path before him bristled with difficulties, but be bribed into 
silence by this man he would not. 

‘ Look: you,’ Mr. Rapham went on, fairly carried away by 
his subject, ‘ I’m ready to make any sacrifice for my girl. I 
want her to have the first chop of society, and make a fine 
marriage. She ought to do — she’ll have one of the finest 
fortunes in the country.’ 


THUNDER-CLOUDS. 


217 


* And without any fortune at all, Miss Rapham would not 
lack suitors,’ Villedieu replied; ‘so amiable, so charming.’ 

‘Yes, Rapha is well enough,’ said the other, a gleam of 
paternal pride in his small eyes. ‘ So you think she is ad- 
mired, do you ?* 

‘ I am sure of it,’ Villedieu answered, having Silverthorn 
in his mind. 

‘You think she has suitors, do you?’ again asked Mr. 
Rapham, his eyes once more twinkling with satisfaction. 

‘ There is no doubt of the fact whatever,’ Villedieu said 
emphatically. If his host gave him a chance, he determined 
to put in a good word for Silverthorn. 

‘ She could marry to-morrow if she chose, eh ?’ once more 
asked the trader. 

‘ That also I can answer for,’ was Villedieu’s hearty reply. 

‘Now, Mr. Villedieu, listen to me,’ Mr. Rapham began, 
in quick, conciliatory, almost caressing tones. ‘I know 
well enough what is in your mind, and I’ll tell you what is 
in mine. You are just the man I’ve been casting about for 
for a son-in-law ’ 

‘ My dear sir,’ put in the startled Villedieu, but the other 
would be heard. 

‘We are nobodies, but we’ve money; you are somebody, 
but you haven’t a sixpence — ^you say it yourself, so I only 
take you at your word. Tit for tat, a bargain, exchange no 
robbery, I say ! Make my daughter the Honourable Mrs. 
Frederick Villedieu, leave the Soudan alone, and you shall 
have a hundred thousand pounds down, and all the rest 
when I am gone !’ 

Villedieu had started from his chair at the beginning of 
this speech, and more than once attempted to put in a 
deprecatory word ; but Mr. Rapham would be heard unin- 


2i8 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


terruptedly to the end. He looked positively exhilarated as 
he awaited the reply, evidently without any doubt as to its 
purport. 

‘You do me too much honour ’ stammered the luck- 

less Villedieu, for once his composure deserting him. 

‘ Nonsense, man !’ Mr. Rapham exclaimed, clapping him 
on the shoulder and growing quite familiar on the strength 
of the projected alliance. ‘You get a million of money; 
we get a fine name. ’Tis an honest give and take.* 

‘ I am indeed deeply sensible of your confidence in me,’ 
Villedieu got out ; he had never found himself so dis- 
countenanced in his life. ‘ But * 

‘Oh! we expect “buts”from fine gentlemen like you,* 
laughed the old trader. ‘You are proud, of course, or, 
perhaps, you don’t like the look of me as a father-in-law. 
I shan’t meddle or make with your affairs, I promise you 
that.’ 

‘ Pray understand me,’ Villedieu blurted forth ; ‘ under 
other circumstances I could but have been proud and 
happy. The truth is, I am no longer free — I am married 
already.* 

‘ The devil you are, are you 1* Mr. Rapham exclaimed, 
fairly beside himself. ‘ Then why couldn’t you tell me so 
before ? Why did you come here as a bachelor, making me 
think, of course, you wanted my daughter ? I’m not such a 
fool as to oblige a man for nothing, whatever others may be ; 
but since we’re not good enough for you, just settle that 
little business of the thousand pounds, will you ? And the 
sooner the better.’ 

Thus saying, he opened the door wide, and bowed the 
discomfited Villedieu out. 


STRA WTON EM FETE, 


IQ 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

STRAWTON EN f£:TK 

We are universally set down as a nation of gloomy tempera- 
ment ; pageantry, gala days, and jollity being, if not positively 
antagonistic to us, held to be at least of foreign growth, ours 
only by force of effort and imitation. But is it really so ? 
In what quarter of the globe is the poorest occasion seized 
upon with more eagerness ? 

Strawton affords a striking instance in point. Never was 
any town in greater need of relaxation or outward display. 
Never any town so subject to periods of material depression ! 
At the present moment, for instance, one third of the entire 
population was subsisting on the charity of the rest ; half 
the factories stood still, the other half were just kept going 
for the look of the thing, a few hands employed at half-time, 
a little work being eked out among outsiders, a semblance of 
business affected ; that was all. A melancholy sight was 
the vast plait hall these raw winter mornings ; apart from the 
heaps of brightly-coloured straw-plait presided over by whole- 
sale sellers, comparatively well-to-do merchants in broad- 
cloth, might here be seen thinly-clad ancient women, last 
representatives of the once flourishing straw-plaiters of 
Dunstable, offering for sale a tiny sheaf of plait with trem- 
bling hands. That tiny sheaf has a pathetic look in the 
eyes of all familiar with Strawton history. It is a survival, 
the gigantic nature of the competition that has crushed it 
being suggested by the enormous bales of braided straw 
from China and Japan. To keep a tidy English homo 


220 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


going, ay, to keep body and soul together nowadays, and 
hold his own against such formidable competitors, theplaiter 
must work night and day with his feet as well as his hands ! 
The lithe fingers of Oriental handicraftsmen indeed outdo 
machinery. If machinery cheapens labour, still more so 
does the machine wearing human shape. In spite of these 
untoward circumstances and an early visitation of truly 
Siberian winter, Strawton was as ready for carnival and 
carouse as any city of pleasure going. No matter under 
what guise opportunity presented itself, the barest pretext 
for keeping holiday was greedily seized upon, and holiday 
was kept with right goodwill, alike by the hungry and the 
well fed ; those whose scanty wardrobe lay half the week at 
the pawnbroker’s, and those who were warmly clad. And 
surely the good people were right. A pageant is often all 
that is needed to keep off an epidemic of suicide. Ye 
philanthropists ! Instead of bestowing your loaves and 
blankets, instead of demolishing courts and trying to over- 
come vagabondage by means of sanitary tracts and teetotal 
drinks, give your poor neighbours a pageant now and then ! 
Teach them the meaning of some words in the dictionary 
they no more understand than if written in hieroglyphics or 
Aramaic. Make them comprehend what is meant by 
splendour, beauty, a symbol. 

‘ Do dine with us on Guy Fawkes’ Day, and see the fire- 
works with the girls afterwards,’ Lady Letitia had said to 
Rapha. ‘ It is all very stupid, of course, but everything is 
stupid when you come to classification. The getting through 
the day — what else is it but a choice of stupidities if you 
once go to the bottom of things ?’ 

‘ I will certainly come if papa is pretty well,’ Rapha 
replied ; and Lady Letitia, who was not only amiability 


STRA WTON EN FETE. 


221 


itself, but a woman of the world, forbore to ask any questions. 
That mysterious little incident of the meeting was generally 
explained away as a mere fainting-fit. What Lady Letitia 
chose to think of it herself was another matter. But it was 
not a thing to be talked about. 

Even such a distraction as Guy Fawkes’ Day was welcome 
to Rapha in her present frame of mind. 

Norrice was away ; Silverthorn she saw but seldom ; Lady 
Letitia, although kind and motherly, was not a person she 
felt able to confide in ; thus life, amid the dreary splendour 
of Strawton Park, seemed solitariness itself. Anything that 
took her from these dreary thoughts came as a blessed 
relief. 

Guy Fawkes’ Day, if a stupidity to grand folks who 
lived in mansions and were familiar with Court pageants, 
was the sole pictorial experience of their poorer neighbours. 
One celebration very nearly resembled another, very little 
change took place in the annual programme, yet every year 
might be seen some fresh attempt at splendour, a little more 
show and glitter, more picturesqueness of arrangement. 
Bad times and local distress never damped the public 
ardour. Whilst the well-to-do artisan bought a costume 
worthy of a calico ball, the ragged street urchin contrived to 
get a few pennyworths of coloured paper or tinsel with 
which to keep himself in countenance. Cheap and worth- 
less from an artistic point of view as were these preparations, 
the effect of the whole was wonderful. The murky, mono- 
tonous, sunless streets of Strawton in November, for that 
one day, blazed with colour. Not Cairo with its gorgeous 
bazaars, not even Venice at Carnival time, offered a gayer 
spectacle than the motley procession, the reds, blues and 
yellows of the dresses vanquishing the gloom ; the gold and 


222 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


silver tinsel sparkling despite the foggy atmosphere. From 
end to end of the long train, nothing reigned but colour and 
piquancy and effect ; commonplaceness for the time was out 
of sight, the whole townsfolk feting each other in rollicking 
spirits. 

There are many reasons for this popularity. All who 
liked could take part in the show, and local as well as 
patriotic significance was attached to the allegories. Popu- 
lar heroes or types of the day figured as well as James II. 
and his courtiers and ministers ; and among the crowd of 
attendant mummers might be seen every mythical peerage 
with whom the unlettered are familiar, from Blue Beard 
down to the Devil, with his long tail dangling from under a 
swallow-tail coat the colour of red-hot coals. But the gist 
of the entertainment consisted in the burning in effigy that 
came last. The colossal Guy Fawkes in painted wood, 
towering above the procession from his car, was of course 
too precious to be thrust into the bonfire. Some bugbear 
in the political, social, or even theological world was instead 
consigned to the flames. If in great straits for a scarecrow, 
no notoriety happening to be particularly obnoxious when 
the glorious Fifth of November came round, the good Straw- 
ton folk just made an auto da fe of the first miscreant that 
came handy : some unusually brutal wife-beater, a molester 
of little children, or publican convicted of using defective 
measures. A fine moral sentiment ever dictated these 
vicarious sentences. 

Mr. Morrow’s balcony commanded an eixellent view of 
St. George’s Hill, and it was his. happy fortune this year 
to entertain in honour of Guy Fawkes. 

Scrupulously dressed, and in a pleasant flutter of expecta- 
tion, he awaited his guests, for the first time such as he had 


STRAWTOiJ EN FETE. 


i23 

vainly sighed for. To-night Lady Letitia was to bring to 
*The Laurels' — ‘was the name of the house quite the 
thing?' asked the nervous Mr. Morrow — that atmosphere of 
gentility, that aroma of refinement, hitherto a matter of 
dreams and aspirations only, quite unnerving him. 

‘ What a charming room !’ cried Lady Letitia, as she 
entered with her two elder daughters and Rapha. ‘ Really, 
Mr. Morrow,' she added, taking in at a glance the unpre- 
tending yet solid wealth of the owner, ‘it is too bad of you 
not to have invited us before.' 

‘ I could not have supposed you would have condescended 
to honour me with your presence,' Mr. Morrow replied, feel- 
ing that modesty became him in his own house. 

‘ How absurd !' laughed his aristocratic visitor. * Look, 
Charlotte, at Mr. Morrow’s antimacassars. Could anyone 
have supposed that a bachelor would have so much taste in 
the matter of crewel-work ?’ 

‘ Ah !’ Mr. Morrow said, • anxiously watching his maid- 
servants, to see that they were serving tea in proper 
fashion, ‘Miss Lowfunds does such exquisite crewel-work 
herself, that I am sure she can find little to admire in 
mine.' 

‘After that pretty compliment, Charlotte will feel com- 
pelled to offer you some of her crewel- work,' Lady Letitia 
replied. ‘Remember, Charlotte, after you have finished 
your preparations for the bazaar, to set to work on storks and 
sunflowers for Mr. Morrow.' 

‘You are too kind, too kind, really!' stammered Mr. 
Morrow, and he was so much overcome that he straightway 
overturned a noggin of cream over his new evening dress. 
But even the upsetting of a noggin of cream may prove an 
adventitious incident in the eyes of anxious mothers. With 


224 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


the utmost good-nature Lady Letitia summoned her girls to 
their host’s help; the pair seized the first antimacassars 
handy, and there they were, amid much merriment, rubbing 
down Mr. Morrow as zealously as grooms rub down an 
over-heated horse. 

‘Where is Mr. Villedieu— and Miss Norrice — what has 
become of our charming mathematical mistress?’ asked 
Lady Letitia, as the room filled and these two failed to make 
their appearance. 

‘Report whispers that our future member is married,’ 
she added in an undertone to her host ; ‘ do you 
believe it ?’ 

‘I assure you, I believe everything I hear on good 
authority. Why should I not ?’ asked Mr. Morrow. 
‘ Things passing belief. Lady Letitia, happen every moment.’ 

He had in his mind the phenomenon of her presence 
under his roof at that moment. Would not such an event, 
if predicted to him a few years before, have appeared not 
only impossible, but preposterous? But, of course, there 
were many auxiliary circumstances to be taken into account. 
A certain brass-plate bearing the inscription, ‘ Merton 
Morrow, Manufacturer,’ had disappeared from the High 
Street ; the consequences of the storming of the Bastille and 
Robespierre had not become so apparent ; in other words, 
the value of land had not gone down to zero. , 

‘ How true that is ! I say to my girls, “ If you want a wise 
saying, you must go to Mr. Morrow for it,” ’ Lady Letitia 
answered ; adding behind her fan, ‘ And that sweet girl’s 
father, our original and hospitable neighbour, do you believe 
that his money has been made by chartering slave-dhows ?’ 

‘ Really, I hesitate to give an opinion,’ Mr. Morrow said, 
confidential in turn. ‘ You see. Lady Letitia, we are. in an 


STRA WTON EN F&TE. 


225 


awkward position with regard to Mr. Rapham. It is best 
for us not to inquire too closely into his antecedents.* 

‘ That is what I feel,’ Lady Letitia replied. * Of course, 
the slave-trade is odious wherever practised, so we are bound 
to consider it now. But I can remember the time, and I 
dare say you can too, when slavery was upheld in English 
pulpits. There is a fashion in morality as in tea-spoons. 
Things held to be harmless in one age become criminal in 
another, and poor dear Mr. Rapham belongs altogether to 
a bygone epoch. We ought not, I think, to be too hard 
upon him.’ 

Mr. Morrow was about to reply, when there was a general 
exclamation, above which could be heard the noise of brass 
bands, and the dim, confused tumult of the vast multitude 
now taking possession of St. George’s Hill. The proceed- 
ings would begin forthwith. The host, bustling about, 
accommodated his guests as best he could in his bay- 
windows. The more venturesome, in wraps and greatcoats, 
took up positions on the balcony outside, protected from the 
cold as far as was possible by a temporary awning. The 
lights were partly extinguished, in order that the fireworks 
and bonfire could be seen to best advantage. 

All was tiptoe expectation. 

If in our showery, capricious England we can never count 
upon propitious weather for picnics, star-gazers have little to 
complain of. Days of fog, drizzle, and gloom will often be 
succeeded by clear, starry nights, when the sight of the 
heavens’ densest purple-black, set with myriads of dazzling 
cressets, is a magnificent spectacle ; at least, so we should 
think if we had to pay for it ! 

Upon this occasion every circumstance favoured the cele- 
brators of Guy Fawkes’ Day; not a c’oud obscured the 

15 


226 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS: 


jet-black sky ; the air was dry and clear ; no sooner was a 
match put to the huge bonfire on the hill opposite than the 
flames spread, and a conflagration was witnessed of extra- 
ordinary magnitude and splendour. 

So pitchy-black the background, so blinding the bright- 
ness, that it was impossible for even a careless spectator to 
gaze without awe. It seemed, as you looked, that such a 
sight could not be the mere pastime of a tatterdemalion 
populace, the sport of shop-lads and street-boys. There 
must be some meaning, some symbol, in a fire almost worthy 
to be compared to those beacon-lights that signalled the fall 
of Troy, or summoned England’s defenders at the news of 
the Spanish Armada. 

‘ Who can the poor people have thought of to burn in 
efifigy to-night?’ Lady Letitia said’ laughingly to Rapha. 
‘ Mr. Gladstone is in high favour just now. No magistrate 
lately has sent old women to prison for stealing sticks out 
of the hedges ; I really can think of no one, unless it be 
that vicar who would not bury a Dissenter in his churchyard 
the other day.’ 

A deafening roar, made up of cheers and hisses, now filled 
the air, as a figure was raised aloft and held up for general 
execration before being pitchforked into the bonfire. Stand- 
ing out in strong relief, the images on the white surface of a 
camera obscura not clearer or more sharply defined than 
this silhouette against the fiery background, Mr. Morrow’s 
aghast guests recognised the effigy of Mr. Rapham. 

The likeness attained by these unskilled handicraftsmen 
was quite startling. There he was — the small, wiry trader, 
dressed in the brown velveteen shooting-suit and gaiters, 
familiar by this time to every eye in Strawton ; his thin, 
parchment-coloured, beardless face imitated in painted wood 


STRA WTON EN FETE, 


22J 


to a nicety, not a salient detail either of figure, dress, or 
physiognomy left out ; the whole thing, but for Rapha’s 
presence, would have been irresistibly comic and laughable. 
That fact caused a thrill of horror to run through Mr. 
Morrow’s guests. Lady Letitia’s natural kindliness of heart, 
also the habit inseparable from good breeding, of trying 
to ward off disagreeable contingencies, now came to the 
general aid. 

‘ Let us go inside, darling,’ she exclaimed, as she drew, 
or rather pushed, Rapha into the deserted drawing-room, 
hoping that she had not identified the scarecrow. ‘ These 
vulgar displays, I have always felt so, are not for us ; I will 
propose to Mr. Morrow to have some music.’ 

But Rapha had seen, had understood it all. Unable to 
control her agitation, having no one else to confide in, she 
burst into passionate tears, and threw herself into Lady 
Letitia’s arms, as a child seeking shelter. 

‘ Oh, it is cruel — cruel !’ she murmured. ‘ What harm 
has papa done anyone here ?’ 

Lady Letitia, half leading, half supporting the weeping 
girl, took her into a small inner room, arranged for the 
occasion as a cloak-room. 

‘ Darling,’ she repeated, folding her in her arms as if she 
were a child, ‘you know poor people, much as we do for 
them, are very selfish. Your father has not subscribed to 
the coal-fund and the blanket-fund, perhaps ? They would 
burn me in efifigy if I withheld my subscriptions, though I 
really want coals and blankets as much as they do. Dry 
your eyes, and we will get Grade and Charlotte to give us a 
duet’ 

‘ Oh no, I had -better go home !’ Rapha cried, sobbing as 
if her heart would break. ‘I know why everybody here 

IS— 2 


228 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


hates papa. It has nothing to do with coals or blankets. 

It is — it is ’ sobs choked her utterance, and she almost 

shrieked out the last words of her sentence — ‘ it is because 
he has made his money by buying and selling slaves 1* 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

AWAKENING. 

Rapha did not return home that night ; she begged Lady 
Letitia to let her sleep under her roof, near Gracie or 
Charlotte ; so the big carriage was sent back empty to 
Strawton Park with an explanatory message. The party was 
late ; Miss Rapham was overtired ; she had accepted a bed 
at her ladyship’s, the footman said when interrogated by 
Mr. Rapham next morning. And mightily pleased looked 
the old trader as he heard. Nothing delighted him more 
than this growing intimacy of Rapha with the Lowfunds 
family. 

‘ Now mind and go to sleep as if nothing had happened,’ 
Lady Letitia said, as she bade her young charge good-night. 
‘ If you cannot sleep, you have but to knock on the wall, 
and Gracie will come to you. Really there is nothing to 
fret about. What can you expect of the lower orders but 
vulgar jokes and personalities? They delight in them as 
much as we do in Joachim’s violin-playing, or Burne Jones’s 
pictures. And to be burnt in efifigy, instead of being a dis- 
grace, is quite an honour, I assure you. Disraeli, now, I 
wonder how many times he has been made a guy of! And 
Dr. Pusey, and the Pope ; in fact, you can hardly mention 
a distinguished person who has not.* 


AWAKENING. 


229 


She hoped to see Rapha smile through the tears that had 
begun afresh ; but instead, she covered her face with her 
hands as if to shut out some horrible picture. 

‘ Take my advice,’ continued the worldly monitor, * and 
on no account whatever mention the past to Mr. Rapham. 
He is your father ; a kinder one never existed, I am sure ; 
and we may be equally sure of another thing— he had his 
reasons for doing what he has done. We must never set up 
as judges of others ; if we once began, what a world of prigs 
it would be !’ 

And once more she tried to make Rapha smile. 

* You see,’ Lady Letitia went on, ‘ no one can live without 
money. Civilization depends upon it as a watch upon the 
spring. If there were no men like your father, who set up 
money-making as the first object in life, soqiety would soon 
come to a standstill. So we must not be too particular as 
to how these great fortunes are made.’ 

* But to sell human lives !’ shuddered Rapha. ‘ If papa 
had never been rich, I should not so much mind j it is this 
show, this luxury, I cannot bear the thought of. My silk 
dress, these pearls, my watch set round with diamonds — oh. 
Lady Letitia, I seem to see blood upon them all ! For it 
is true, I have seen reports in the papers ; slaves are treated 
cruelly now as in former days. Children are separated 
from their parents ; women are beaten till they die ; life is 
made a curse to them.’ 

‘ Nonsense, darling !’ Lady Letitia said soothingly. ‘ News- 
papers, of course, make the worst of everything. They 
would never pay unless they doled out horror upon horror 
from day to day. I assure you, your imagination is distorted 
to-night. There were plenty of slaves in Brazil till the other 
day, you know, and we have had such pleasant friends among 


230 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


Brazilian slave-owners, such kind people; they would not harm 
a mouse, I am sure. Then the slaves in Egypt — their life is 
a perfect dream of idleness and enjoyment. When at Cairo 
with my husband, we visited an Egyptian princess who had 
fifty women-slaves. I do honestly believe, never were house- 
maids in England so spoiled and petted. Then think of 
Eva in “Uncle Tom’s Cabin”! What a kind little thing 
she was to the poor blacks ! No, my dear child ; you can find 
worthier objects of sympathy in the slums of London. Do 
be reasonable, and do not break your heart about chimeras.' 

Rapha listened unconvinced, gratefully accepted her 
hostess’s kiss, then laid her aching head upon the pillow. 

It was characteristic of this young girl, so inexperienced, 
so compliant in most matters, so ready to lean upon others, 
that when her moral sense was called into play, she was not 
to be shaken, firm as a rock, decision incarnate. 

Lady Letitia’s kindly-meant sophisms had no more effect 
upon her than the artless babblings of a child. Her 
mind did not dwell upon them for a moment. The solu- 
tion of the question before her seemed arbitrary and 
incontestable as that of a problem in Euclid. 

And the waking after a night of feverish sleep had no 
effect upon her resolution either. The world was going on 
as usual. Her own misery and its cause were nobody’s con- 
cernment. Lady Letitia and her daughters were busy with 
a dozen matters, trivial enough in themselves, yet apparently 
of the first importance in their eyes : Julia’s dress at the 
coming Artillery ball, Amy’s visit to her aunt. Lady Mow- 
bray, the matching of wools for fancy-work, the curling of 
feathers, the wording of invitations. The day seemed all 
too short for the immense amount of business everybody 
had to get through. 


A WAKENING, 


231 


‘ Then you won’t send back the carriage, and accompany 
Gracie to town to do the family shopping ?’ Lady Letitia 
said, when Rapha descended to the morning-room in her 
furs to say good-bye. ‘ Well, dear, come whenever you like 
— Julia, look out the Addelys’ address in the Blue-book — 
and after this business of getting Amy off to Powys Castle 
— Amy, love, ring for Bates — Gracie shall come and stay 
with you. Gracie, is there no more stamped paper in the 
house ? Good-bye, then — good-bye. Don’t forget wLat a 
little bird whispered into your ear last night.’ 

The girls quitted their various occupations to take affec- 
tionate leave. * Do be kind to that poor girl,’ Lady Letitia 
had said ; ‘ she can do us so many good turns.’ Then Rapha, 
pale as a ghost, drove back to the horrible splendour of 
Strawton Park. 

Never before had the place seemed so cold, so bare, so 
unlike a home to her ; never did housekeeping by contract 
seem so painful a parody on the life of the affections and the 
fireside. The only little bit of domesticity was her own 
room, with its pet birds, its frisking kitten, and pet dog; 
But here she had hitherto spent only a small portion of the 
day. Mr. Rapham liked her to receive visitors in the 
drawing or music room. ‘What was the use of having 
them if unoccupied from morning to night ?’ he would ask. 
Nothing delighted him more than to come home in the 
afternoon and find Rapha with a little crowd of visitors. 
The whole thing seemed to him quite complete. Rapha, in 
her charming winter dress ; half a score of well-dressed 
ladies and gentlemen talking cheerful nothings ; the well- 
trained footmen serving tea faultlessly ; and perhaps a little 
music before the guests took leave. 

To gratify her father, Rapha had encouraged visitors 


232 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


indiscriminately, and had tried to like everybody, no 
difficult task when everybody’s first business seemed to 
please her. As she now wandered through the lonely house, 
recalling the events of the last few months, she wondered 
how such a life could interest, much less satisfy her. 

It seemed now to her overwrought imagination that there 
was positive blame in leading an existence given up wholly 
to self-gratification and pleasure. She reproached herself 
for having thus entered heart and soul into the distractions 
of society. Ought she not firmly to have resisted, made 
her father see that wealth meant more in her eyes than 
mere money-spending ? These thoughts came as a second 
ary cause of pain and disenchantment. Just as in science 
a revelation ki any field throws light upon countless subjects 
outside that field, so the light afforded by one mood of 
unflinching self-examination does not stop there. One 
sting of awakened conscience rarely comes alone. Rapha 
now began to incriminate herself for having enjoyed such 
luxuryj almost as much as if she had known all along how 
it had been earned. 

In the midst of her sombre reverie Mr. Rapham came up. 

Rapha saw at a glance that he knew nothing of what had 
happened the night before. The fixed, ghastly pallor of 
the last few days was gone. He looked his old, brisk, 
cheerful self, perhaps even a trifle more cheerful than usual, 
for Rapha’s reception by Lady Letitia pleased him greatly. 
He wore the black clothes usually put on for visits to 
London, and carried a small box in crimson morocco. 

‘ So,’ he said, ‘ her ladyship kept you last night ? I must 
see what I can do to oblige her in return. Would she be 
affronted if I sent her a case. of wine, do you think? 
Allchere gets it cheap from Bordeaux, and I have no doubt 


AWAKENING, 


233 


the young ladies are teetotalers from economy. But now, 
look here !’ 

He sat down beside her, still having his hat on ; Mr. 
Rapham had an insuperable objection to uncovering his 
head. He would fain have breakfasted, li^nched, and dined 
in his hat. He was no more of a Radical than Lady 
Letitia herself, but to have to remove his headgear seemed 
to him humiliating, or at least derogatory. 

‘Look here !’ he repeated, his small eyes twinkling with plea- 
sure. ‘ Did you ever see anything more perfect in your life ?’ 

A jeweller, expatiating on wares to a customer, could not 
have been more eloquent or enthusiastic than Mr. Rapham, 
as he now displayed a lovely little set of pearls and rubies 
— such a set as would have made most maidens ready to 
weep for joy. 

* It is a bargain bought out of the great jewellery sale at 
Christy’s yesterday,’ he went on, ‘and it is for you to wear 
when you are presented; I don’t think, had I searched 
London through, I could have found anything prettier. As 
to the. stones, there is no doubt about them.’ 

One by one he held pendant, brooch, and ear-rings up to 
the light. 

‘On my word,’ he said, ‘you are in luck’s way, and no 
mistake about it ! This set is fit for a princess. We’ll just 
try ’em on.’ 

No lover, wooing his mistress with choicest gifts, could 
handle the jewels more tenderly than Mr. Rapham did now ; 
and, as each ornament was adjusted, he stepped back ad- 
miringly. The rubies and pearls certainly became Rapha’s 
girlish yet spiritual beauty admirably. Just such a touch of 
splendour was wanted to emphasize the deep, tender blue 
eyes, fair hair, and wild-rose complexion. Jewels could 


234 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


hardly, perhaps, embellish one so young and lovely, but they 
lent state and dignity, changed the timid girl into the 
dazzling woman. 

Triumphantly, endearingly, as a lover whose proudest 
possession was to be this beauty, Mr. Rapham adjusted 
brooch, pendant, ear-rings, hailing the effect produced by a 
rapturous cry as he stepped backward to gaze. No picture 
in the world could have delighted him so much ; no girl in 
England, he thought, was fairer than his own child. 

On a sudden his expression changed from exhilaration 
and joy to deep, vindictive concern. 

‘What is the matter with you?’ he asked, in a wholly 
altered voice. 

For Rapha, shrinking from him as maiden from tempta- 
tions of false lover, tore off the jewels, and flung them from 
her with a gesture of abhorrence. A girl, seeing in such 
gauds the bribe of unholy passion and the forfeiture of her 
own soul, could not more vehemently resent the share than 
did Rapha seem to do now. 

She uttered no word of reproach, but outraged feeling 
and wounds too deep ever to be healed, the unspeakable 
retributive condemnation of* a pure, strong nature, to whom 
evil is impossible — all these were written in her pale, down- 
cast, yet'undaunted look. 

Mr. Rapham now reiterated the question, knowing too 
well wbat the ans .ver would be. An entire future seemed 
written on the wall before him. He saw himself arraigned 
before the awful tribunal of innocence, sentenced by the im 
placable justice of youth and purity. His conscience was 
touched vicariously only, a past of ignominy and wrong- 
doing appearing shameful, blush-worthy, just because his 
guileless young daughter found it so. 


AWAKENING 


235 


Crestfallen, baffled, as the lover whose impure offerings 
have won him no adorable mistress, only an angelic rebuke, 
he put back the jewels in their morocco case, and eyed his 
sweet, stern monitress with looks growing darker and 
darker. 

‘ You w’On’t have them ?’ he said, with as much brutality 
as he could put into a speech addressed to her. ‘ Then I 
will tell you what -I shall do. If you set yourself up as a 
judge, if you bully and bait me about that business in the 
Soudan, I shall just marry again. You can go where you 
please.* 

‘ Oh, papa !’ Rapha said, daughterly affection, a sense of 
filial duty, impelling her to tenderness and humility. ‘ I 
could be quite happy with you \^ere vre living simply, not 
keeping up this state. What right have we to enjoy money 
made by buying and selling human lives? These poor 
people, they are human like ourselves ; they feel pain and 
sorrow and humiliation as we do ; it is only because they 
are helpless that such advantage is taken of them. Let us 
live quite plainly in your little farmhouse, papa. I should 
be so very happy there. We would only keep qne or two 
servants, and it would be a delight to me to occupy myself 
with the dairy and the poultry-yard. Then this great 
fortune — which is not really ours, no more ours than if it 
were stolen from murdered men — all this money w^e do not 
want, could be used for good purposes. We could make it 
a blessing instead of a curse.’ 

She had risen from her chair now, and was kneeling by 
him, her hands clasped about his arms, her face upturned 
to his own with an ineffable look of tenderness and appeal. 

* For it is a curse, it cannot be anything else,’ she added, 
in pleading, passionate tones. ‘We shall never be happy 


236 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


here ; we can never really feel as if this splendid place were 
our home. And indeed we should lose no real friends. 
People who care for us would care a thousand times more 
when they knew the truth ; and if others held aloof, what 
would it matter ? Oh, papa ! my own dear, kind father — 
for you have ever been kindness itself to me — we could be 
all in all to each other but for this ill-gotten money ; it stands 
like a wall between us. Only let it go, and I would do any- 
thing you like; never, never leave you, so long as you live/ 

Hitherto she had spoken calmly, though with deep feel- 
ing ; now, however, the sweet, tear laden voice broke down. 
She could only press his hands to her lips, and cover them 
with tears and kisses. 

But Mr. Rapham was 'no more moved than if he saw 
before him some suppliant slave-mother begging off punish- 
ment from an offending child. His present mood was of 
dark, fierce, concentrated anger only. Rapha’s appeal 
humiliated, exasperated, it did not touch him in the least. 

‘ Look you, Rapha !* he said, breaking away from her 
clasp, and standing before her, jewel-case in hand. ‘ Are 
you going to take these trinkets, or are you not ? Because, 
if you set yourself up as a law giver in my house, the 
sooner you make way for somebody else, the better I shall 
like it.’ 

He stood before her still in the attitude of the tempter 
proffering the jewels ; but Rapha never moved. It seemed 
to her in that brief moment, hardly of indecision, but of 
pause, that if she lifted a finger to accept the hateful bribe 
now, she should forfeit the right to choose between good 
and evil. Her lips would be sealed on all weighty matters 
in her father’s hearing for ever ; her conscience would be 
yielded up to his keeping. 


AWAKENING. 


237 


On the other hand, filial duty prompted compromise, if 
not yielding. Her father was growing old, his life had been 
hard; but for herself, he was alone in the world. Could 
any circumstances justify a line of conduct that meant not 
merely sore feeling and painful conflict, but perpetual 
estrangement? 

For she realized, as clearly as it is possible to realize any- 
thing by the mental faculty, that this decision must alter the 
whole tenor of her life. Her father’s rough words could 
admit of no misinterpretation. No middle course was open 
to her. She must either consent to accept his moral canons 
and rules of conduct, or alienate, disinherit herself altogether. 
Worldly consideration did not weigh with her a single 
moment Wealth wore the look more of a burden than any- 
thing else. She hesitated for the sake of that dead unknown 
mother whose child she was. She thought of the meeting 
three months before, of the kindnesses heaped upon her. 
Here lay the real source of her hesitation. It lasted a 
moment only. 

Once more Mr. Rapham held forth the jewels. He 
almost, indeed, pushed them into her unwilling hands ; 
but she turned away so abruptly that the case fell to the 
ground. Picking it up with a low-muttered oath, again 
wearing that awful pallor of inward rage, only lost the day 
before, he left her. 

He, too, recognised that a crisis had come ; they had 
reached the Parting of the Ways 1 


PART II 


CHAPTER I. 

AT CROSS PURPOSES. 

When Norrice heard the front-door impatiently slammed 
by her husband, she gave way to bitter tears. 

This, then, was the end of her bright dreams ! Thus 
treacherous could be the promise of bridal love and hope 
and joy mutually shared ! How much better the quiet, 
studious, impersonal life given up for Villedieu’s sake, the 
peaceful existence in which feeling had played but a secondary 
part, never more, alas ! to be her own. So long as she 
lived, she should remember that terrible morning. Already 
she felt old, gray, and indifferent. 

She decided at once to go straight home. No one, not 
even her mother, knew as yet of this marriage. It might be 
kept secret for the present, for some time, perhaps in- 
definitely, perhaps always; meantime Villedieu would be 
free to resume his old existence, and the step he had taken 
so blindly would be to all intents and purposes cancelled. 
He had made a mistake. Instead of marrying a rich 
woman whose fortunes were to mend his own, he had 
wedded a penniless teacher, incurring fresh burdens and 
responsibilities. Any proud woman, Norrice reasoned, must 
• feel as she did now. The notion of continuing to live under 


AT CROSS PURPOSES, 


239 


his roof, sitting down to his table, receiving apologetic 
tenderness, seemed insupportable. He would be kind, and 
kindness under such circumstances might wear the look of 
an insult too. One consolation saved her from- despair. If 
the life of feeling was indeed dead within, fruit and flower 
alike blasted, the plant withered to the root, that of intellect 
remained yet full of strong, vigorous life. She could not 
believe in Villedieu’s love any longer. Her love for him 
was turned to sorrow and bitterness; but she could still 
believe in herself, at least that part of herself with which 
love had nothing to do. Is human capacity, she asked, 
limited to a single eflbrt, capable of one manifestation only ? 
In the serene domains of scientific inquiry, as in the sunnier, 
more flowery regions of art and poetry, may not the imagina- 
tion be exercised if once successfully, a dozen, nay, a 
hundred times? The first-fruits of her genius had been 
sacrificed, it was true; but the inventive faculty remained. 
Might she not yet discover something, invent something, 
and so mend Villedieu’s fortunes ? Discoveries as valuable 
as those made yesterday might surely be looked for on the 
morrow ; and if mental activity is unlimited, still less can we 
fix any boundary mark to its sphere. What can be called 
final when we deal with science and matters amenable to 
scientific investigation ? 

As she pondered this, there came into her mind that 
beautiful apostrophe of her favourite poet, Schiller, to her 
favourite hero, Columbus : 

‘ Steer on, O great-hearted seaman, westward, and yet ever westward ; 

Follow the spirit that guides thee, let scoffers jest as they may 1 

Were the coast thou seekest not there, yet would it rise from the 
ocean, 

With Genius Nature is bound ever in union eternal ; 

What the first' regards as a promise, the last will fulfil, never failing 1 


240 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


‘ Yes,’ Norrice argued, and the thought saved her from 
morbidness and despair, ‘ I have dreamed of a thousand 
achievements that may not after all be visionary. We must 
not, we dare not, apply the words incredible,” “ impossible,” 
to Nature or Nature’s laws. I will go home to my mother. 
I will continue my lessons as usual, devoting all my spare 
time to study and research. Before many years, before 
twelve months even have elapsed, I may be able to hand 
over to my husband the wealth he had counted upon when 
making me his wife.’ 

Villedieu came back, as he had said, early, and with a 
dark frown of care on his brow. Like Norrice, he seemed 
to have made up his mind to put away sentimentality for 
the present, and look stern realities in the face This brief, 
rapturous dream of love and closest sympathy was rudely 
interrupted. It was useless to ignore the fact that everyday 
life presented a dire problem. 

There was this difference in the attitude of the pair, a 
difference that Norrice felt acutely. Whilst Villedieu’s 
reproaches of a few hours back, hasty and ill-considered 
although they might be, opened to her thinking a very gulf 
between them, he appeared to think his own conduct per- 
fectly natural, and impossible to be misunderstood. Cir- 
cumstances of her own bringing about had made existence 
very uncomfortable ; the very acme of embarrassment, 
indeed, seemed thereby incurred ; but she was his wife, he 
was her husband. Love was still there to console them for 
such traverses of fortune. They should continue to be all 
in all to each other. A happier condition of worldly things 
would bring back the careless joy of yesterday. Thus, at 
least, he regarded the position, unable to see it in any other 
light. 


AT CROSS PURPOSES. 


241 


There was no need to ask how the interview with Mr. 
Rapham had terminated; disagreeable news enough was 
written on Villedieu’s face. 

‘Fred/ she began. How unlike her tone of voice to 
that of yesterday ! Then the familiar name, so timidly yet 
so tenderly uttered, had seemed to her a joyous spell, a 
charm linking them together closer than words could say. 
Now she got out the name with an effort ; the formal, un- 
loverlike ‘ Mister ’ would have been far easier to pronounce. 

‘ Let me go on with my teaching, as usual, for the present.’ . 
She was gathering courage to add, ‘ Let me go back to my 
mother.’ 

‘Nonsense !’ he replied. ‘When you want money, come 
to me for it. We can’t do much for your mother just yet : 
but you say she has a small annuity ?’ 

‘ Oh, mamma needs no help,’ Norrice answered proudly. 

* I was thinking of myself.’ 

‘ I don’t say that we shall not be put to straits now and 
then, till something turns up,’ Villedieu went on. ‘ I may 
inherit property any day, or if I make a good figure in 
Parliament, I may get a place. All these things,, however, 
are in Cloud Cuckoo Town. For the present we must live 
— upon nothing.’ 

‘ And that means getting into debt ?’ Norrice said sadly. 

‘ That means getting into debt !’ Villedieu answered with a 
reckless, even jaunty air. ‘People are only too happy to 
trust me, which is one comfort.’ 

The thought evidently did not comfort Norrice. The 
cloud of doubt and sadness she had endeavoured to conceal 
from her husband’s eyes was all too apparent. 

‘ Why don’t you take things as I do ?’ he went on. ‘You 
missed the most splendid opportunity of making a fortune 

16 


242 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


ever perhaps put in the way of a woman ! But the mischief 
is done. All the lamenting in the world won't undo it ; and 
if I live to be as old as the patriarchs, I shall never open 
rry lips on the subject again. What we have to do is to 
keep up our spirits, get out of our hobble as best we can, 
and look out for the next chance.^ 

His easy, reckless speech gave Norrice courage to speak 
out also. 

' Would it not be better,* she began, in calm, persuasive 
tones, no trace of wounded feeling in either voice or look — 
‘ would it not be really better and more prudent for us to keep 
our marriage secret for the present, for some time, perhaps 
indefinitely? Nobody as yet has an inkling of the truth. 
I am not obliged to give account of myself to my mother. 
And, meantime, I could go on teaching as usual. You 
would be free from responsibilities. I am sure this is the 
best thing to do,’ she added. 

* Do you take me for a monster of selfishness ?’ he asked. 
* Having married a woman I supposed to be rich, am I going 
to throw her on the world because I find out that she 
has not a penny? I have never earned any money in my 
life, but that is no sort of reason why I never should. I 
shall put my shoulder to the wheel, get a secretaryship or 
something of the kind. We have taken each other for 
better for worse, and the better may still come some day.* 

All this time Norrice was realizing the unnaturalness of 
the position in which Villedieu so unexpectedly found him- 
self. Here was a man reared in indolence and irresponsi- 
bility, whose career till middle life had been one of careless 
ease, on a sudden brought face to face with the hard practical 
realities of life, forced into that struggle for existence which 
is the gruesome riddle of the many. She felt impelled, 


AT CROSS PURPOSES. 


243 


nay, bound to free him from such a position, and yield him 
back his forfeited liberty. 

‘ Then till the better comes, let me go home,’ she went 
on, still coldly persuasive. ‘ Indeed, indeed, it would be 
better for both of us. Let me leave you for a time.’ 

‘ You speak as if we had merely entered into a partnership, 
and there were no feelings or inclinations to be taken into 
acc9unt,’ he replied, here, indeed, describing Norrice’s state 
of mind to the letter. ‘Why in Heaven’s name should you 
leave me, I want to know ?’ 

‘ Life would be easier to you. You would have, as before, 
only yourself to think of,’ she said. 

‘ Really,’ he replied, not in the least mollified, rather more 
and more ruffled by every argument so gently adduced, 
* I cannot understand you to-day, Norrice. One would 
think this wretched affair of the invention, the selling your 
birthright for a mess of pottage, for so it is, could destroy 
every particle of confidence and affection between us. I 
feel towards you precisely as I did before. You have no 
reason for feeling otherwise with regard to me. As I say, 
let us forget the matter and make the best of things.’ 

But Norrice must still plead proudly for herself. Not a 
syllable he uttered but seemed to separate them farther and 
farther. 

‘ At any rate, I might return to my mother till your affairs 
are more settled,’ she said. ‘ It would make me so much 
happier to be earning money. I cannot bear the notion of 
becoming a burden to you.’ 

‘ You seem to forget one important fact,’ he made answer, 
and as he spoke his face wore an expression of real anger. 

‘ You are my wife. You must find some better excuse for 
getting rid of a bad bargain.’ 


16 — 2 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


Her unreasoning pride, so he called it, seemed as great an 
obstacle to an understanding as his own hard, matter-of-fact 
conclusions. Norrice, determined not to quarrel and not to 
appear to take his words literally, went up to him and offered 
him the cold kiss of peace. 

But it was peace far more painful than open warfare. 
Burning tears, she knew, would have to be stayed, thoughts 
of anguish checked, strictest watch kept over look, word and 
deed, and what was hardest of all to bear, the kindness, nay, 
the tenderness accepted that to her wounded pride could 
only mean an apology, a make-believe of the love once relied 
upon as the very light of heaven. 

* Yes, don’t let us worry each other for nothing,’ Villedieu 
replied. ‘ We have enough on our hands without that.’ 

The man-servant was just placing their cutlets on the 
table. When he had gone, Villedieu added, with a wry 
face : 

‘ I must swallow my luncheon as fast as I can and be off 
to the money-lenders. That old Shylock will have his 
thousand pounds or his pound of flesh. Now if you could 
discover a quibble in his bargain with either of us, you 
would be a Portia indeed !* 


CHAPTER II. 

THE JOYS OF WEDLOCK. 

Quite unexpectedly next morning Norrice walked into her 
mother’s little parlour, her unexplained holiday having lasted 
just ten days. 

‘ So you have come back at last, child, have you ?’ Mrs. 
Bee said, with an air of ill-disguised satisfaction. ‘I do 


THE JOYS OF WEDLOCK, 


245 


hope you did not hurry home an hour sooner on my account. 
You know I am never dull, and though in my young days 
girls never wanted to leave their parents and be gadding 
about here, there, and everywhere, we must accept the 
pernicious tendencies of the age. Well, how have you 
enjoyed yourself all this while ?’ 

Norrice took off bonnet and cloak, and turning her back 
to the questioner, answered in monosyllables. 

‘Had she done this?’ — ‘Yes.’ ‘Had she seen so-and- 
so ?’ — ‘ Certainly.’ ‘ Had she been there ?’ — ‘ Of course.’ 

This uncommunicativeness on the part of one naturally so 
vivacious struck Mrs. Bee as peculiar. Upon other occasions 
Norrice had made a day’s adventure in London as amusing 
as a chapter of ‘ Humphrey Clinker.’ It was like reading 
‘Pickwick ’to listen to her, Mrs. Bee always said. Never 
was such a girl for extracting diversion out pf nothing. She 
would find more entertainment on the top of a tramway-car 
from the Nag’s Head to King’s Cross than some people in a 
yacht voyage to Norway. 

‘ I only hope you have got your money’s worth,’ Mrs. Bee 
said at last, her suspicions now fairly aroused. ‘ One might 
suppose you had been to a funeral ! Well, all sorts of things 
have happened here since you went away. They say Mr. 
Villedieu is married.’ 

Norrice still sat looking in the fire, silence incarnate. 
Mrs. Bee took up her knitting with an odd look, and sat 
down also, glancing curiously at her daughter from time to 
time. ^ 

‘I always liked that Mr. Villedieu uncommonly,’ she 
said, ‘ and — everybody remarked it, Norrice — he seemed to 
admire you very much.’ 

Norrice remained dumb. 


246 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


‘ Though, of course, there was every likelihood that he 
would make up to the heiress, Miss Rapham/ 

No word from Norrice. 

‘ I can’t help thinking when you told me he had proposed 
to you, that there was some truth in it all,’ Mrs. Bee went 
on. ‘ Men do make such unexpected marriages, and Mr. 
Villedieu, folks say, was ever a bit of a harum-scarum. 
Have you seen anything of your admirer since you went 
away ?’ 

‘ Of course,’ murmured Norrice. 

Mrs. Bee now laid down her knitting, and perused the 
pale, pensive girl unreservedly. The merest surmise had 
become, she knew not how, conviction. That inquisitorial 
maternal heart was not to be deceived. She knew it all now. 
Norrice was married to Mr. Villedieu. 

‘ Why you should conceal anything from your own mother, 
I cannot conceive,’ Mrs. Bee went on, fond, but querulous. 

* I see now why this visit to London has been protracted 
from day to day, and why you have come back as indifferent 
to what is going on as if the world had come to an end. It 
is wonderful the difference marriage makes in a girl at first. 
Everything but her own life becomes all on a sudden quite 
uninteresting to her. I dare say Eve felt the same. The 
apple would not have tempted her in the first days of the 
honeymoon. I’ll be bound. But why can’t you out with the 
truth, and say you are Mrs. Villedieu ?’ 

‘ Of what use, since you know it already ?’ Norrice replied, 
unable either to cry or laugh. She felt, in truth, as her 
mother had said, strangely indifferent. 

Mrs. Bee, on the contrary, became suddenly animated 
and loquacious. She made Norrice take off her glove and 
display her wedding-ring ; she giggled, prattled, crowed. 


THE JOYS OF WEDLOCK. 247 

Norrice, at last, smiled to see her mother’s jubilant 
mood. 

‘ I always said you would make a fine marriage,’ Mrs. Bee 
went on ; ‘ but I never, of course, thought of looking so 
high as Mr. Villedieu. A man of his rank and position, such 
a gentleman, with such prospects ! And, of course, he must 
have been over head-and-ears in love with you, to marry you 
without a penny. That is the advantage we poor women 
have over rich ones. We are married for ourselves, and not 
for our money. You don’t know how thankful I always 
felt that I was not an heiress.’ 

A bitter smile rose to Norrice’s lips. The irony of her 
mother’s speech cut deep. 

‘Then, again,’ Mrs. Bee continued, ‘a fond, indulgent 
husband delights in nothing so much as having his wife 
absolutely dependent on him. Your poor dear father, for 
instance, used to think of all kinds of little things I might 
want, and buy them for me — a pair of stays, or anything. I 
am sure Mr. Villedieu is just the kind of man to do the 
same.’ 

‘ Mamma,’ Norrice broke in, anxious to give a fresh turn 
to the conversation, ‘ do not think me unkind or undutiful 
in stealing this march upon you. Mr. Villedieu would have 
it so. He hated the notion of people gossiping about us 
beforehand, of fuss and preparation. I should not have 
left you, of course, had I not hoped to help you all the 
same.’ 

‘ I want help, indeed !’ Mrs. Bee said, with a con- 
temptuous toss of the head. ‘ I have my annuity, and if a 
single woman can’t live upon fifty pounds a year, she 
deserves to go to the workhouse.’ Here she changed her 
tone to one of earnest persuasion. ‘ Mind, Norrice, what 


7^8 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 

’Our mother says. Never go to your husband for a penny 
>n my account. One can never tell how men take things ; 
;ven the best of them are apt to look upon mothers-in-law as 
^ext door to ogresses.’ 

* My dear, good mother,’ Norrice said, fairly overcome, 
now at last shedding a few quiet tears; ‘the best of men 
are not worth such mothers as you. How could I leave 
you, mammy dear !’ 

Mrs Bee took alike Norrice’s tears and caresses very 
stolidly. 

‘Bevier to weep for joy than for grief,’ she said. ‘ I am 
sure I used to cry every day when I was with your dear 
father on our honeymoon. He looked for it as regularly as 
for cgf,s and bacon at breakfast, and used to take me on his 
knee (whilst they were getting cold) and pet me like a baby. 
You m<iy well cry ! Married to Mr. Villedieu ! The envy. I’ll 
be bound, of every unmarried girl in the place ! I should 
be ready to die of happiness were I in your shoes.’ 

This, again, was more than Norrice could bear. She 
jumped from her seat and proceeded to adjust bonnet and 
cloak. 

‘ I am now off to see Rapha,’ she said. 

‘Rapha! Miss Rapham !’ Mrs. Bee exclaimed. ‘You 
won’t find her. Don’t you know what has happened? Mr. 
Rapham has quarrelled with his daughter — no one knows 
about what— and he has turned her out of doors without a 
penny. So, at least, the story goes. I dare say Lady 
Letitia knows all about it.’ 

Norrice dropped into a chair with the look of one who 
hears fatal news. Ill-omened indeed it was to her. Not 
only she divined the truth and con- userated Rapha from 
the bottom of her heart — that thought was grief and per- 


THE JOYS OF WEDLOCK, 


249 


plexity enough ; but this rupture of Rapha with her rich 
father dashed all her hopes of helping Villedieu to the 
ground. Rapha was just and generous, Rapha loved her 
as a sister. Norrice had intended to go to her now, not, of 
course, to plead on her husband’s behalf, or in any way to 
interfere with his affairs. -Some time before Rapha had 
confided to her friend the fact of a small legacy, a few 
hundred pounds, lately left her by an aunt. * Do accept this 
money as part payment for your invention,’ she said ; but 
Norrice had strenuously resisted the generous pleading. 

Now, however, she determined to accept the sum, a mere 
bagatelle to an heiress, but of great importance to herself. 
She would merely ask the loan of it, to be repaid out of her 
future earnings — earn money she must and would. 

Her husband’s affairs were terribly embarrassed ; all kinds 
of contretemps had happened. The use of Rapha’s little 
legacy would prove a veritable godsend just now. 

But this unexpected piece of news entirely changed the 
aspect of affairs. Rapha, of course, needed the money 
herself. No help could be looked for in that quarter. 

She sat pale as a ghost. 

* Let me give you a glass of wine,’ Mrs. Bee said. 
‘Nothing like coming home after a honeymoon to upset 
the nerves. Everything seems to have turned topsy-turv\ 
since we went away to get married.’ 

She poured out a glass of wine, and Norrice did not sa} 
nay. Her heart was sinking within her. 

‘ And, Norrice,’ Mrs. Bee added, going to her desk and 
taking out a little old-fashioned knitted purse with five 
sovereigns in it, ‘ this is the money I have saved out of the 
housekeeping lately ; just put it in your pocket Don’t go 
to your husband for a shilling before you have been married 


250 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


a month. You have money owing you for lessons, you know. 
Get that in, too, so as to set you up a bit. I don’t want it’ 

Pale and resistless, Norrice let Mrs. Bee slip the five 
sovereigns into her pocket, but the wine revived her. She 
was soon her old, strong, spirited self again. She would be 
strong and vanquish evil fortune, she said to herself. 

‘There is one thing I wanted to say to you,’ she began. 
‘ Please, mother, leave my workshop as it is for the present. 
Mr. Villedieu will be often away from home, and whenever 
I have an opportunity I shall come here and work away at 
my inventions as before.’ 

Mrs. Bee had long accustomed herself never to be 
astonished at anything Norrice might say or do. She 
listened all the more respectfully now, as Norrice was no 
longer a girl living under her mother’s roof, but a married 
woman ; the wife, moreover, of a man almost a stranger to 
his mother-in-law, she felt bound not to pry too closely into 
her affairs. 

‘ What on earth should I want with the room ?’ she asked 
pettishly. ‘Though, I dare say, if I shut myself up there 
and gave my mind to nothing else, I could invent wonderful 
things as well as other people. I have often thought of 
trying. There are so many little things, easy enough to 
invent if one only hit upon the right principle, that would 
immensely add to one’s daily comfort— pokers that would 
stir the fire . of their own accord, for instance ; self-acting 
window-cleaners ; automatic ironers to do the work we get 
so heated over. If all the inventions I dream of were 
brought to perfection, life would be pure unmitigated enjoy- 
ment from morning till night.’ 

‘Then you must certainly appropriate my workshop,* 
Norrice repiled, with her old merry laugh. 


THE JOYS OF WEDLOCK. 


251 


Her mother chatted on, and she again fell into a reverie. 

Mrs. Bee set down this dreaminess as a natural conse 
quence of the honeymoon. Wedlock may not realize a 
girl’s extravagant dreams of bliss, it may not mean cruellest 
disenchantment; but for the time it does set a girl ‘a-think- 
ing.’ She is like a child who, after many promises, is at last 
taken to the fair, and whose mind is occupied with drawing 
comparisons between the vision and the reality. 

‘ Does nobody know where Rapha is ?’ she asked. 

‘ Of course somebody does ; most likely Lady Letitia. 
And, after all, things may not be so bad as they say. One 
might fancy every word some people say was handsomely 
paid for, by the way they exaggerate. A pretty commotion 
will be raised when it comes out that Mr. Villedieu has 
married you.’ 

Mrs. Bee uttered this sentiment with as much vivacity 
and triumph as if the Strawton folks were to learn of 
Norrice’s marriage to a prince. 

Once more a bitterly ironic smile rose to the young wife’s 
lips. So lonely, so heart-broken she felt just then, it was as 
much as she could do to refrain from falling with sobs on 
that motherly breast, but she mastered herself. Her 
mother’s lot had been a hard one ; she would not rudely 
crush her bright hopes now. 

‘I suppose we shall hear of you going to Court now, 
Norrice, dining with the Prime Minister— in fact, all sorts 
of grand doings ! I shall sit at home and imagine it all. 
By far the plan that best suits me.’ 

* Ah ! your imagination must be lively indeed,’ Norrice 
said, obliged to be merry in order to hinder herself from 
weeping. ‘We are going, of course, into the biggest hou^e 
in Park Lane ; the front door will be flung open by house- 


252 


THE PA'RTING OF THE WAYS, 


porters in sky-blue plush and silk stockings ; dinner will 
not be served before nine o’clock at earliest ; and to each 
5uest will be one flunkey and ten wineglasses. That is 
>vhat I call the tip-top of enjoyment. That is why I 
carried Mr. Villedieu. But now I must really set off for 
I>ady Letitia’s.’ 

She kissed her mother with affected gaiety. 

‘ Good-bye, mammy dear, till dinner-time ; one of your 
dear old dinners made out of nothing, you know! I’m 
home for a holiday. I’m not going back till night.’ 

Mrs. Bee watched the tall, slender figure disappear from 
the window, then sat down pondering deeply. 

Simple as she was, no child more artless in many things, 
she yet possessed that unfailing motherly instinct, never at 
fault, and it flashed upon her the truth new. In spite of 
Norr ice’s gleams of vivacity, this bride of a few days was 
desperately unhappy. 


CHAPTER III. 

NEMESIS. 

When Mr. Rapham returned from his farm that afternoon, 
the great house kept going by contract seemed as dreary as 
the inside of a pyramid. A deathlike silence reigned over 
it. Hitherto the first thing he had heard on entering was 
the sound of Rapha’s piano, the sweet treble of her young 
voice as she sang amid her flowers, or the talk and laughter 
of visitors around her tea-table. That girlish presence, that 
overflowing of youth, joy, innocence and happy surprises 


NEMESIS, 


253 


seemed to fill the place, leaving no room for ennui, dulness, 
or monotony. Does not the very charm of youth consist 
in its absence of routine, its spontaneity? And when, as in 
Rapha’s place, are added to the witchery of naivete and 
impulse, deep generous affection and the faculty of realizing 
the unevident relations of things, then, ah! then, youth 
wields a wand indeed ! For Mr. Rapham it was enough 
that Rapha captivated him. He did not care whether 
Rapha were gifted or no. He liked her to please and 
amuse others as she pleased and amused himself. Rare 
talents, exceptional gifts, insight, he did not ask for. 

It was growing dusk when he drove home, fierce passions 
in his heart, once more the terrible pallor of suppressed rage 
in his face. 

With a dim presentiment of what had happened, but 
without opening his lips to the automatic attendants, he 
walked straight to the drawing-room. 

All was as usual. The fire burned brightly ; the curtains 
were closely drawn ; the candelabra gave cheerful light. A 
little tea-table, on which gleamed a tiny service in chased 
silver, was drawn close to the fire. 

Such an interior would have be:n perfect but for one 
drawback, the unnatural trans-human silence and stillness 
reigning throughout the place. The silence, indeed, seemed 
audible, the beats of time to be counted, as to those who 
keep midnight vigils. 

Mr. Rapham poured out a cup of tea, a second, a third, 
and drank feverishly. Then he went to Rapha’s boudoir. 
There also reigned the same chilling, eerie quiet. Her little 
piano was closed, her vork-basket no longer in its usual 
place j her old-fashioned desk he missed also. 

The old trader had not a particle of sentiment in his com- 


254 the parting of the ways. 

position, no latent softness in his nature ; but he was human, 
he shared one instinct with humbler creatures in the scale 
of life. Rapha was his own child, he was her father. When 
he realized the fact that she had left him, his feeling was of 
fierce anger rather than bitter sorrow. He never for a 
moment owned himself in the wrong, much less did he seek 
to condone her conduct. 

All the pain, however, if not all the tenderness of sorrow, 
was his. Her departure hurt him as much as any calamity 
could do. Perhaps, had he seen her lying dead before him, 
he would not have felt more stricken, more lonely. That 
first evening of solitude in the big house seemed inter- 
minable. Hitherto each accessory of his superabundant 
wealth had gratified him for Rapha’s sake — the glitter of 
plate and crystal, the elaborate dinner, the ceremonious 
service. 

Rapha sitting opposite to him in her pretty evening dress 
was so easy, in the midst of all the splendour, so animated, 
so full of resources, that a tete-a-tete dinner ever seemed too 
short. The meal over, she would chat to him whilst plying 
her embroidery-frame, read scraps of news from the paper, 
amuse him with old-fashioned melodies on the piano ; then, 
quite regularly, when coffee had been served, they had their 
game of cribbage or bezique. 

Mr. Rapham could not read to himself. No book ever 
written interested him in the very least ; even to glance at a 
newspaper bored him greatly. 

So the first long evening of loneliness began and ended in 
brooding. 

She had taken him at his word, then ? He sat ponder- 
ing, not on the best means of bringing her to her senses, so 
he put the matter, but of punishing such undutifulness and 


NEMESIS. 


2SS 

folly. As he pondered and pondered, he came to the con- 
clusion there was only one way. 

He must marry again. 

The notion was far from pleasing to him. He had loved 
his own wife just as he loved Rapha, because she belonged 
to him,, because she was his own. He had married, too, 
before embarking on that soul-deadening traffic in human 
lives. Soft memories still clung to the period of his short 
wedlock. Now marriage could only mean to him an en- 
croachment upon his liberty. Suppose he married one of 
Lady Letitia’s daughters, such an alliance must hamper him 
in many ways. The Lowfunds family, too, was poor and 
proud. In marrying one, he should marry the whole family. 
His purse would be regarded as common property, a poor 
return for the condescension shown in accepting his hand. 

Marry again, however, he must, if only to punish Rapha. 
She should learn that this wealth she affected to despise 
was regarded by others with very different eyes. Experi- 
ence would teach her that the world is only too glad to 
take people as it finds them, leaving their antecedents 
alone. 

‘ Miss Rapham left word that she had to go to town for a 
few days, and would write to you,’ said Rapha’s maid, 
breaking in upon his reverie. 

The girl was the only bit of personality in the house. 
She alone ventured to show a little interest in her employers, 
and to hazard guesses as to what was going on. She was 
hoping now for an explanatory word, but none came. 

‘ Good,’ was the master’s frigid reply. Next day the 
pondering began afresh. Dreary as had been his dinner, 
breakfast was drearier still ; no ripple of girlish laughter on 
tlie staircase, no kiss from sweet lips, no merry talk over the 


256 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


morning’s letters, no apparition of youth, love, and sprightli- 
ness at the opposite end of the table. 

The more he missed her presence, the more resentful 
and vindictive he became. He was farther than ever from 
the mood that might have brought about a reconciliation. 
If a tear, a fond word of remonstrance, a kiss of peace, had 
been difficult to him before, now they seemed impossible. 
He sternly confronted the odious, the horrible conviction 
that out of self-defence he must go on steeling his heart 
against his own child. 

All the while he was willing one thing and wishing 
another. In those first hours of his desolation he expected, 
rather than hoped, much less wished — so at least he said to 
himself — to see Rapha back again. She would repent of 
her folly, ask pardon, and all would be with them as before. 
If she came to him at once, he should not, of course, send 
her away. But he wanted no scenes — the reconciliation 
must be got over tacitly and quietly. 

That morning’s post did, indeed, bring a sign from Rapha, 
a little note blurred and blotted with tears. 


‘ Dearest Papa,’ she wrote, 

‘Pray forgive me if I seem ungrateful. I am very 
unhappy. 


‘Your affectionate 

‘ Rapha.’ 


Having read and re-read the missive, Mr. Rapham 
crushed it in his palm and threw it with an oath in the fire. 
He swallowed his coffee, munched a bit of toast, then walked 
to the window and looked out. 

It was a brilliant winter morning, and never had the fine 


NEMESIS, 


2S7 


old trees of Strawton Park showed to better advantage, each 
leafless bough delicately pencilled against the pale-blue sky ; 
whilst in striking contrast to these fairy silhouettes was the 
massy foliage of pine and ilex. Such pictures remind us 
that without our northern winters, bleak and biting as they 
are, we should lose some of the loveliest, most poetic aspects 
of Nature. These forests that are no forests — that spirit of 
the woods without the form summer gives them — may they 
not symbolize an existence without the fleshly envelope, 
the spirit-world the human mind is led to believe in and 
aspire to ? If the material world can show so much 
beauty, bereft of all we are accustomed to associate with 
life, may it not be so with that other beyond the tomb, 
when our fleshly visible selves shall have passed away, 
crumbled to dust ? 

Mr. Rapham took no account of Nature. Scenery, 
atmosphere, weather, were alike indifferent to him. As he 
stood thus looking on a scene that was positive enchant- 
ment, he thought of Rapha and of the bitterness of her 
ingratitude to him. 

‘ Why did men marry and beget children ?’ he thought. 
‘ Why had he not stayed in Africa and left Rapha to follow 
her own behests ?’ He might have foreseen that no good 
could come of this settling down in England after so many 
years’ absence — ^this fireside life with a spoiled schoolgirl. 
No — a wife, a woman of experi "e and judgment, able to 
see things from his. own point of view, would suit him 
infinitely better than a daughter. That was the kind of 
partnership he wanted. 

As he stood thus, full of dark, vindictive thoughts, he 
heard the rustle of silk skirts outside, and his heart gave a 
great leap. She had come back ! 


17 


258 


THE PARTtHG OP THE WAVS. 


The sound of a soft, engaging voice undeceived him. 

‘ Dear Mr. Rapham, pray excuse my early visit,’ Lady 
Letitia said ; ‘ I am obliged to take an early train to town 
and called here on my way.’ 

‘ Pray take a chair, I am happy to see you,* he said. 

* Indeed,’ he added, eyeing his visitor with an odd expression, 

‘ your ladyship is the very person I wanted to see. I was 
going to pay my respects to you this very morning.’ 

‘ Then my visit is highly Apropos,’ laughed Lady Letitia, 
somewhat nervously. She never felt sure of what her un- 
couth neighbour might or might not say. * I came — pray 
do not accuse me of interfering — I came on Rapha’s account; 
the dear child ’ 

Lady Letitia!’ broke in Mr. Rapham roughly, yet in- 
tending no disrespect ; ‘ you mean kindly both by myself 
and my daughter, I am sure. But no excuses for Rapha, if 
you please. You are a mother. If your girls set themselves 
up as judges, you would feel much as I do, I presume.’ 

‘ I did not come here as Rapha’s apologist,’ Lady Letitia 
replied, anxious to show in the first place her sympathy for 
himself ; in the second, her sympathy for- Rapha. ‘ I dare 
say at her age I might have felt as she does. You and I 
are no longer young, Mr. Rapham. With us, sentiment is 
relegated to a secondary place. We are compelled to accept 
realities, often hard ones, and take the world very much as 
we find it. At the same time, this difference between your- 
self and your sweet girl is so painful, any common friend 
must feel it so acutely, that I assure you I would do any- 
thing in order to bring about an understanding, anything in 
the world.* 

Mr. Rapham looked wholly irresponsive. It became 
evident to Lady Letitia that she was pouring water into a 


NEMESIS. 


259 


sieve. His hard, bitter look was not to be misconstrued, 
and it expressed the irrevocable verdict of his mind better 
than words could have done. 

‘We may as well change the subject,^ he said drily. 

* What I wanted to say to you was this : I have made up 
my mind to marry again.’ 

‘ Really !’ Lady Letitia exclaimed, with another nervous 
little laugh ; as she afterwards confessed to Grade, ‘ There 
was no accounting for Mr. Rapham ; she felt half afraid he 
was going to propose to herself !’ 

He continued, with the air of a man who is quite in- 
different to criticism : 

‘ I am sixty-two. I have one of the handsomest fortunes 
in these parts, and I can’t carry it to the grave with me. My 
money must go somewhere, to somebody. Now, ma’am, I 
put it to you as a family matter, would one of your young 
ladies have me, do you think? I have nothing to say 
against any one of them. They seem to me just the 
thing !’ 

‘ Indeed, you flatter my poor girls,’ Lady Letitia replied, 
blushing and smiling ondering if Gracie would be heroic 
enough to sacrifice herself on the altar of sisterly affection. 

‘ I don’t intend flattery,’ was the blunt reply. ‘ Your girls 
are not, perhaps, so handsome as some. They can’t help 
that ; and you have told me yourself you have no fortune to 
give them. But they have fine figures, and fine manners, 
and seem to me able to put two and two together. Just 
have it out with them quietly, all between ourselves, you 
know, and if one of the young ladies has taken a fancy to 
me — to my money, you know, which is the same thing — I’ll 
marry her, as true as my name is Ralph Rapham.’ 

‘ It is very good of you to say so, I am sure,’ Lady Letitia 

17 — 2 


26 o 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


replied, too much taken aback and diverted to feel the 
slightest affront. * Girls are all capricious. They want one 
thing to-day and quite the opposite to-morrow. But I am 
sure my elder daughters will highly appreciate the compli- 
ment paid to them, anyhow.* 

‘ Look you !* Mr. Rapham went on quite seductively ; 
‘ you are a woman of sense, my lady. You know the worth 
of money. Manage this little business for me, and I’ll be 
the best friend you ever had.* 

He added, with the air of a deeply-injured man : ‘Things 
are now serious with me. I should not like to leave my 
money to charity. I have come honestly by it, whatever 
folks may say. I am not so old but that I might still live to 
see a son grown up ; and I shall leave my wife pretty much 
to her own devices. Any woman might do worse than 
marry me.* 

‘ Without doubt, dear Mr. Rapham,* Lady Letitia replied, 
secretly hoping that either Gracie or Charlotte might be 
induced to see the matter in a favourable light ; * and I wish 

you every happiness. But that dear child * 

‘ It is my daughter who has cast me off, not I who have 
cast off my daughter,’ Mr. Rapham said sharply ; then, wish- 
ing to have Lady Letitia’s good opinion, he added : ‘ She 
shan’t starve, of course ; I am not an unnatural father.* 

‘ As if I should set you down for that !’ Lady Letitia 
said. 

‘ And if you did — if you did ! We are answerable to 
nobody but the police for our good behaviour,* laughed 
Mr. Rapham, and that plangent retort effectually silenced 
Lady Letitia. She went away musing on the strange con- 
catenation of events that had brought golden Fortune — a 
vision of Haroun el Raschid — to her door. 


TAKING COUNSEL, 


261 


CHAPTER IV. 

TAKING COUNSEL. 

What refuge should Rapha seek in her anguish and desola- 
tion but Silverthorn’s faithful love? After that terrible 
scene with her father she had gone straight to her old 
London home, the professor’s roof, under which she had 
spent so many happy hours, and of course her little note to 
Silverthorn brought him at once. 

‘What ought I to do?’ she asked of the monitor, 
having told him all, with sweet eyes brimful of love and 
sorrow. 

Never, perhaps, was temptation more distractingly placed 
before the eyes of wistful lover. Silverthorn’s first impulse 
was, of course, to say, ‘ Marry me !’ This, under the cir- 
cumstances, seemed the simplest course, the most satis- 
factory cutting of the Gordian knot; but he checked the 
impulse, and determined to be true to his best self, whether 
Rapha aj; first should misunderstand him or no. 

‘ Listen,’ he said, having smilingly kissed away her tears, 
‘you shall have no high-flown theories, but what appears 
to me the plain, simple, straightforward truth. I think, 
then, you should try to reconcile yourself with your father, 
and let things go on exactly as usual, for two reasons. In 
the first place, this enormous wealth will be yours one 
day ; you can then do with it as you please. There will 
be no one to say you nay,’ he went on significantly. 
‘ You will be at liberty to devote the whole to good pur- 


262 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


poses, thus setting conscience at rest. Secondly, in case — 
I do not think it in the least likely, but we must take 
such probabilities into consideration — in case, then, any 
facts come to light disparaging to your father’s reputation 
— suppose that inquiries should be made concerning his 
transactions in the Soudan, suppose things turn out awk- 
wardly for him — is it for his daughter, his only child, to 
hold aloof?’ 

‘ Poor papa ! oh ! will it come to that ?’ Rapha cried, all 
her anxieties, all her sympathies for the moment being with 
her father. ‘ Yes, I see it now. I ought to bear every- 
thing, to put my own feelings quite out of the question. I 
will go back to him at once.’ 

‘ Wait a little,’ Silverthorn said. ‘ So far I have not 
given you my own opinion, but have only stated the case. 
I'he two conclusions I have placed before you are obvious ; 
no one can deny them. Now let me tell you what I feel 
personally about the matter. Of course I am speaking 
against my own interest. Cast off your father, and what 
should hinder us from being married tomorrow? We 
should be as happy as possible on my income. I am no 
great lover of money myself. A thousand a year, which I 
may earn some day, is the utmost I aspire to. But would 
it be right for us to do that? — for us to marry, I mean, 
taking advantage, as it were, of this quarrel, still further 
exasperating Mr. Rapham by such an act of defiance ? No, 
dear ; we must wait yet a little longer.’ 

There was some sadness in that last little speech, but 
the next moment he was his old alert, frank, genial self. 

‘Now for my own opinion. I don’t think any of us 
ought to sit in judgment on Mr. Rapham, much less you, 
his own daughter. Slavery is odious, wherever it is prac- 


taking CoVnSKL. 


263 


tised — there is no doubt whatever of that ; and slave- 
trading ought to be put down. But it is for States and 
Governments to take the initiative in punishing offenders, 
not for individuals ; and what I say on the subject applies 
to many others. Private citizens must not act the part of 
lawgivers, much less judges, however much their feelings 
may be implicated.’ 

‘Then you think me in the wrong?’ Rapha asked sorrow- 
fully. 

* I think your disapproval should be passive in the 
case of your own father,’ Silverthorn went on. ‘ Moreover, 
the mischief is done. He has made his money, and, I 
presume, has now no more to do with slave-dhows than I 
have.’ 

Rapha listened in a painful frame of indecision. She 
longed for nothing so much as to be reconciled to her 
father ; but Silverthorn evidently did not understand — she 
could not make him understand — the wall of separation 
that had risen between them. 

‘ And there is another thing to think of,’ urged the 
monitor ; ‘ Mr. Rapham is growing old. He has ever been 
the kindest father to you. You would not like him to be 
left in his old age to hirelings and strangers.’ 

‘ I ought to love poor papa dearly, I know. I shall 
never forget his kindness to me — never, never ! But can 
we love those who do wrong, whose lives have not been 
straight and good ?’ Rapha said. ‘ And, .remember, we 
have seen very little of each other. Had I known him 
in my childhood, he must have seemed closer, dearer to 
me. I have tried hard to love him,’ she added, with 
passionate tenderness. ‘ I wanted to love him more than 
anything in the world ’ 


264 


THE PARTING OP THE WAYS. 


She did not heed Silverthorn’s disconcerted look as she 
got out the dreadful confession. 

‘ That is the hardest of all to bear. He is my own father, 
and I cannot love him !’ 

‘ Don’t think yourself alone there,’ Silv^rthorn said. 
‘ How many of us have to live with, eve 1 to cherish, 
those we ought to love, yet cannot ! It is one of the 
curses of life ; blessed, thrice blessed those who can 
honestly love their nearest and so-called dearest ! But a 
habit of liking grows up and does duty for real affection. 
I am sure few daughters live on better terms with their 
father than you did with yours ; whilst as to sons — the less 
said about them the better. Yes, dearest, what you have 
to do is to smooth matters down. must plan a recon- 
ciliation.’ 

Whilst acknowledging Silverthorn’s advice to be single- 
minded and sound, Rapha was yet conscious of a feeling 
of disenchantment. There was the same touch of worldly 
w'isdom about his counsels that she had resented in Lady 
Letitia’s. His conclusions were certainly inevitable, and 
she felt bound to accept them ; but would not Norrice 
have taken a wholly different tone? There were fine 
shades of feeling, delicate, almost impalpable degrees of 
repugnance and long-suffering, that Silverthorn ' seemed to 
ignore altogether. Norrice would have realized the diffi- 
culty, rather impossibility, of two human beings living 
harmoniously* together whose very notions of right and 
wrong were directly at variance. For not only did she 
shrink from her father’s past career; no one knew — she 
had hitherto hardly dared to confess to herself — how often 
his daily words and deeds, even looks, had shocked and 
repelled her. There seemed in him to be lacking the 


TAKING COUNSEL, 


26 


moral sense that, if it does not prevent the unscrupulous 
from acting shamelessly, at least puts them on their guard, 
and acts the part of sentinel in their dealings with others. 
To her, of late, his mind had been freely opened, and 
although filial duty kept criticism in check, the perpetual 
condition of disapproval was a heavy strain. 

Could she re-embark on such an existence, quietly sit 
down by a fireside desecrated in her eyes for ever, let her lap 
be filled with roses, in every one of which a serpent lay 
coiled ? 

Evil is not final and restricted within certain limits. What 
Rapha dreaded was some new phase of her father’s character 
being revealed to her — some revelation to come that must 
divide them still further. 

Nevertheless, she allowed herself to be guided by Silver- 
thorn. 

She sat down and penned, under his dictation, a second 
and much more explicit note than the first. She was ready 
to go back to him, her note said, to forget and forgive all 
that had happened ; be his own loving, dutiful daughter 
once more. 

‘You will now have nothing to reproach yourself with,’ 
said the monitor, as he read her missive with satisfaction. 
‘Your father will delightedly meet you half-way. And if 
not — if not,* he added, with lover-like insinuation, ‘there 
are plenty of churches handy. We will just go and get 
married.’ 

Two or three days passed, and Mr. Rapham gave no 
sign. The second note had shared the fate of the first — 
just been glanced at, crumpled in his palm, then thrust in 
the fire. Silverthorn’s prognostics, so far, did not seem 
likely to come true. 


266 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


Secretly rejoicing, although he felt that he ought to wish 
for a reconciliation between father and daughter, he proposed 
a third expedient. 

‘ Suppose I go and see Mr. Rapham ?’ he said. 

Accordingly, having fully prepared his palinode on Rapha’s 
behalf, and very carefully dressed — we can never be too 
careful of appearances when about to ask a favour — he set 
out for Strawton Park. But a glance at the face of the 
servant told him that his journey was made in vain. One 
and all of Rapha’s friends, it was now plain, were to be 
refused admittance 

Then Silverthorn went on to Lady Letitia’s ; this mission 
being equally unproductive as the first. 

Lady Letitia blushed, smiled, sighed, tittered, when Mr. 
Rapham’s name was mentioned. She deeply regretted the 
misunderstanding between father and daughter, she said ; 
no one could feel for both more acutely than herself ; but 
she could not really venture on the part of mediatrix again. 
She had pleaded for Rapha as a mother might have pleaded 
for her own child. Mr. Rapham was obdurate, implacable ; ' 
no good, only harm, could be gained by further interference 
at present. 

And poor Lady Letitia, like Silverthorn, was willing one 
thing and wishing another. She half desired to see a re- 
conciliation brought about, because it was her duty to do so, 
as a right-minded woman ; she would put no stumbling- 
block in the way of an understanding ; on the contrary, if 
lifting a finger could help matters, her finger should cer- 
tainly be lifted. But our poverty, not our will, consents ! 

A mother of several portionless girls could hardly help 
wishing that this great fortune might be secured by one of 
them. 


TAKING COUNSEL. 


267 

If Mr. Rapham married one of her daughters, he would 
in time be softened. She was far from wishing to see 
Rapha disinherited, but there was wealth enough and to 
spare for two. 

Silverthorn returned home crestfallen, yet elate ; disap- 
pointed, and at the same time in raptures. He had hoped 
to succeed in his mission, but failure meant the realization 
of his fondest hopes. 

Rapha now belonged to himself. He could make her his 
wife without let or hindrance. 

His look betrayed his disastrous, his too blissful tidings. 

‘ I have done my best, my very best for you,’ he began in 
a doleful voice, his eyes beaming with satisfaction. ‘ You 
are alone in the world,’ he went on, not a vestige of hopeful- 
ness in his accent, yet ill-concealed rapture in his glance. 

Rapha also listened with alternate hope and deprecation. 
She hardly knew which she was wishing for — the thorny 
path of filial duty, or freedom to love and be happy. 

* You are turned out of house and home, my poor child !* 
he said, lugubrious, funereal as before, at the same time 
brightening every moment. ‘ You haven’t a penny to call 
your own, you poor little thing !’ he exclaimed, with the tone 
of one ready to cry, his looks more elate than ever. ‘ You 
haven’t a creature left to care for you worth mentioning !’ 

Rapha never once opened her lips. Like her lover, she 
was ready to laugh and to cry at the same moment. A 
strange sense of desolation, a stranger sense still of enrich- 
ment, was taking possession of her. 

‘ 1 am very, very sorry for you,’ he added, fairly in tears. 

She was weeping now tears of over-joy as well as sorrow. 

‘ I will do all I can for you, and that is next to nothing. 
\Vhat win become of you, m poor little Rapha ? . . . And 


268 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


we shall be as happy as the day is long/ he added at last, 
fairly overcome. 

Then he gathered her to his true heart, and they wept 
together. 

‘ Now, Rapha,’ Silverthorn said, when they had recovered 
themselves, ‘ I think you and I understand each other about 
most things without the necessity of long speeches. We 
are not, of course, going to make matters worse, but, i 
possible, better, with your father. We know well enough 
what he would have said had I asked you to marry me 
before. But he can’t think it is your money I am after 
now.’ He added with a wry face : ‘ I don’t say that a 
handful or two of Mr. Rapham’s guineas would not have 
been acceptable to us ’ 

‘I have five hundred pounds Aunt Susan left me. It 
is my very own. I will give it to you to-morrow !’ Rapha 
exclaimed. 

‘ We will furnish a little house with it,’ the happy lover 
went on ; ‘ a very little one it must be. And a Tilly Slow- 
boy in the way of domestic. I fear our household staff must 
not go beyond that. Then as to housekeeping, do you 
know a leg of mutton from a calf’s head — do you really, 
wh^n you see it ? But to return to your father. I will write 
him a very respectful letter, and say that we are to be 
married this day week — well, this day fortnight then, as 
that seems too soon for you — and perhaps he may come 
round.’ 

‘ Poor papa !’ sighed Rapha ; * I feel as if I ought not to 
be so happy away from him ; at the prospect, too, of leaving 
him for ever.’ 

‘ My dear child, had you regarded your father as perfec- 


TAKING COUNSEL, • 269 

tion itself, a veritable angel in human shape, you would 
most likely have done the very same thing some day. If 
girls never quitted the paternal roof to get married, you see, 
no new houses would be built, for the excellent reason that 
nobody would want any ; no upholstery would be bought 
from one year’s end to the other, which means the universal 
stagnation of trade ; half the Channel steamers would cease 
to run, and half the foreign hotels put up their shutters, 
because no happy couples would be going on their honey- 
moon ; the milliner’s trade would be ruined ; the value of 
gold fall to zero — ^^no wedding-rings being needed ; in fact, 
national commerce would come to a standstill, and the 
British Empire, like Jack and Gill, go tumbling downhill at 
a galloping rate. So marry we ought and must* 


CHAPTER V. 

BRIDE AND BRIDE ELECT. 

True enough, Silverthorn and Rapha were married, and, 
as Villedieu had done, Silverthorn took his bride home to 
bachelor quarters. It was a busy time of the year, no holiday 
could be expected, leisure for choosing and furnishing a 
house was wholly out of the question ; so they were quietly 
married one Friday, spent the brief honeymoon at Dover, 
just to stare at the Channel they might, perhaps, cross some 
day, Silverthorn said; a..J on the following Monday re- 
turned to London. 

How different Rapha*s waking up from maiden dreams 
to Norrice’s ! No snake lay coiled among the roses now 1 


270 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


no skeleton lurked in the cupboard here ; the only sadness 
of this pair was one they could share in common. But for 
thoughts of her father she should be too happy, by far too 
happy, Rapha said. 

Just as each new impression, be it the spectacle of 
romantic forest, mountain, or river, classic site or storied 
ruin, enriches the lover of beauty, and widens his power of 
aesthetic assimilation, so does each new expression of life, 
each fresh expansion, render a really fine nature more sym- 
pathetic. 

Thus it was with Rapha : the new-made wife straightway 
became the tenderer, more wistful daughter. Her wifehood, 
instead of alienating still more from her father, drew her 
nearer to him. She felt that she mus/ be reconciled now. 

Her first visitor was Gracie Lowfunds. The young lady 
made her appearance one morning quite alone, and with an 
air of mystery, as if she had something important to com- 
municate. The two girls — great friends always — having 
kissed each other, and Rapha having blushingly accepted 
Gracie’s congratulations, there followed a pause. At last 
Gracie took her friend’s hands in her own, and, blushing in 
turn, began : 

‘ Do you know — can you guess — what I have come to tell 
you?’ she asked, looking in the other’s candid blue eyes. 
‘ Do try !’ 

‘You are going to be married !' Rapha exclaimed. 

There are certain facts feminine instinct divines at once, 
and this is one. A woman, no matter her age or character, 
be she young, middle-aged, grave or gay, can never conceal 
her approaching marriage from another. 

‘Yes,' Gracie replied, reddening; ‘I am going to be 
married. But to whom ? That’s the riddle.’ 


BRIDE AND BRIDE ELECT, 


271 


‘To Mr. Morrow, of course,’ Rapha said. *I am so 
happy, dear Grade. Mr. Morrow has a heart of gold — 
everyone knows that.’ 

Gracie, still holding her friend’s hands, now behaved like 
the veriest giglet going. She blushed, laughed, tittered, 
looked this way and that; finally got out, with cheeks on 
fire : 

‘ I am going to marry your father !’ 

There was no disbelieving the preposterous statement. 
Rapha knew well enough that Gracie would have com- 
ported herself very differently had Mr. Morrow’s name been 
on her lips. She would have been calm, self-possessed, 
dignified, as became her mother’s daughter; no need to 
turn crimson and giggle at confession of such a bride- 
groom. 

‘ I hope you will be pleased,’ Gracie went on, having 
evidently learnt her part beforehand, and now speaking 
quietly ; * your father will no longer be alone. I shall en- 
deavour to fill your place, and, you may be sure of that, 
to bring you two together again. There is the difference of 
age to be got over, certainly ; but I.am twenty-nine ; I don’t 
mind letting you know. I shall be thirty next birthday, and 
mamma says a woman of thirty can marry a man of any age. 
Do say you don’t disapprove, dear !’ she added caressingly. 

Rapha had listened hitherto like one under a spell She 
neither coloured nor started as she heard, but sat silent and 
conscience-smitten. She felt herself the author of this evil 
But for her own flight and marriage, would her father have 
dreamed of taking a young wife ? 

‘ I assure you, dearest,’ Gracie went on, now apologetic, 
feeling that she must make her motives clear, ‘ I should not 
have accepted Mr. Rapham but for family considerations 


272 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 

You see, there are so many of us, and mamma can give us 
no money. I feel that I ought not to refuse. It is a most 
humiliating position for a girl to be in. Mr. Rapham knows 
as well as you do that my feeling for him is of friendship 
only. He is quite ready to accept me upon those terms. ^ 

‘ You cannot, you dare not marry my father — any man — 
merely for his money f Rapha cried, now wifely feeling, 
womanly instinct having full play. ‘ I am not thinking of 
myself ; could papa be made happier by marriage, I should 
rejoice. But have you thought, dear Grade — have you for 
a moment looked into the future and realized what your life 
with him would be? For marriage is not like ordinary 
friendship. Husband and wife must be so much together, 
live in such close intimacy, whether they love each other or 
no. If they are in sympathy — all in all to each other— the 
intimacy does not shock. There is a sacredness about it 
which only those who are married can understand. But 
when there is no such sympathy, and only a show of friend- 
ship to begin with— for you know so little of my father, you 
cannot call him your friend— what is a home — what is 
marriage then ?’ 

Gracie had in some degree prepared herself for such an 
outburst. She kissed Rapha’s flushed cheek, and answered 
endearingly ; 

‘ All girls cannot marry as you have done, for love, dear. 
Some are compelled to regard marriage as a duty. And 
never fear, whatever happens, I shall do my duty as a 
wife.* 

* It is not easy to do one’s duty when one is unhappy,’ 
Rapha broke in passionately. ‘You could not be happy. 
You would feel conscience-stricken ; for if my father does ill 
in marrying you, the greater evil is still yours; you wrong 


BRIDE AND BRIDE ELECT, 


273 


yourself, you wrong him ; you wrong all women in thus per- 
juring yourself, selling your soul for money.’ 

The young wife dashed away her burning tears, and went 
on, de'termined to spare neither Grade nor herself. Painful 
as it was to speak out, she would conceal nothing. Grade 
should know the inmost thought of her heart. 

* I must tell you the truth,’ she said, ‘ although in doing 
so 1 seem to disparage my own father. If I found it hard 
to love him, would not you find it harder still? For a man 
shows his best self, only a part of his character, to his 
daughter, but from his wife he conceals nothing. You 
would find yourself shocked in little things, till a feeling of 
shrinking in time became aversion. How could you act a 
wifely part then ? And the double perjury is the same. Be 
perpetually smoothr and compliant to papa, apparently satis- 
fied with your contract, you only act a part ; rebel, break 
openly with your husband, he is still the victim. The evil 
can never be undone or atoned for. You will never really 
respect yourself again.’ She added with more fire and im- 
pressiveness : ‘We turn our backs upon the wretched women 
who sell their souls for a guinea. Are they worse than those 
who marry rich men for their money ? They only do for 
bread what you do for show and splendour; and their 
temptation is the greater.’ 

Gracie listened, pale as a ghost. Conscience-smitten, 
silenced, she let Rapha say what she would. 

‘ I should not have spokeii so plainly to you,’ she mur- 
mured, ‘ had you come with the news before my own mar- 
riage. But I seem to have learned so many things since 
leaving papa — since I was married, I mean — and I feel 
boldpr to speak out. Gracie, do be advised by me ! Do 
believe what I say ! You can never remain a good woman 

18 


274 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


if you marry my father — any man double your age — merely 
for his money. I am a happy wife. We love each other 
dearly, Gerald and I But I feel, I seem to understand, 
how horrible marriage must be without love — at least, with- 
out esteem and affection. You would in time grow worldly 
and hard ; it would not much matter to you whether the 
people you associated with were good or no. If temptation 
came in your way, you would fall.* Rapha clasped her 
friend close now, and laid her hot cheek to Gracie’s cold 
one. ‘For women cannot live without affection of some 
kind ; and when they are unhappy, they excuse themselves 
for going wrong, and think allowance should be made for 
them. Have you thought of that ? Oh ! think of it before 
it is too late.* 

‘You don’t know the pressure put upon me by mamma 
and my sisters,’ sobbed the unhappy girl, as she wept on 
Rapha’s shoulder. ‘ We are so poor, and Mr. Rapham has 
promised to do. so much for me, which means doing it for 
the whole family, you know. I feel as if I ought to sacrifice 
myself for my sisters. And my case is not like yours. No 
one has ever fallen in love with me j for Mr. Morrow’s liking 
is quite another thing. He likes Charlotte and Julia quite 
as well. And the whole matter is settled now. I don’t 
feel as if I had the courage to go against everybody’s wishes, 
and draw back now. Besides,’ she sobbed out, ‘ it does not 
seem to me that my poor life is really worth much. I mean 
to do my duty, of course. I hope I shall never go wrong. 
But it is surely of little consequence what becomes of me, 
and scores, hundreds of women must feel as I do. There 
are so many of us, and so few seem to be born^to anything 
like a destiny, at least, in our rank. If I had a little mqney 
of my own and could set up anything, say a little chicken- 


BRIDE AND BRIDE ELECT, 


275 


farm on my own account, I should be as happy as the day 
is long. You see, I am not very ambitious,’ said the pooi 
girl, smiiing through her tears ; ‘ not nearly ambitious enough. 
Mamma thinks I ought not to hesitate for a moment when 
such a fortune as your father’s is placed within my reach. 
I dare not a(;cuse my own mother of heartlessness. I dare 
not go home and tell her I have changed my mind.’ 

Rapha let go her tender, appealing hold, and moved a 
little way off. She did not say a single word more ; her 
strength to remonstrate was spent, but the expression of 
passive reproach, the look almost of despair, in her face 
now moved Gracie far more than any words could have 
done. It seemed to* her in that moment of revelation — 
for revelation it was, the flashing of a new light upon her 
whole future — that she also stood at the Parting of the 
Ways ; while her good and her evil genius beckoned her 
to follow for once and for all. With that keen instinct 
awakened in the most careless by an outburst of noble 
passion, she realized exactly Rapha’s way of seeing things ; 
the generous contagion of a loftier moral standard reached 
her. She realized the real loss, the real gain, now placed 
before her mind ; on the one hand, forfeiture of all a woman 
should most dearly prize ; on the other, mundane satisfac- 
tions and empty joys— the celestial crown exchanged for the 
muck-rake of Bunyan’s pilgrim. 

Throwing herself on her knees before her friend, she mur- 
mured through her tears : 

‘ Do not cast me off, dear ! I will try to be brave and 
resist — I promise you that.’ 


i8— 2 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


276 


CHAPTER VI. 

HELPED OUT OF A DILEMMA. 

Like a timid child, afraid to give the real reason for being 
kept at school, Gracie cogitated on her way home how best 
to frame her excuse. Everybody, she knew well enough, 
would be against her : Lady Letitia, blandness itself ; her 
sister Charlotte, the high-spirited imperious one of the 
family; and the younger girls, longing to be out of the 
schoolroom — all wanted Gracie to marry in order that she 
might make room for themselves. That was the plain, dis- 
agreeable truth of the matter. She was in everybody’s way. 
Poor Gracie pondered and pondered. To take Rapha’s 
high moral tone, she knew, would only make herself ridi- 
culous in the eyes of her family. To carry things with a 
high hand — in other w ords, boldly to announce the truth, 
that she was an entity, not to be sold like a chattel, was 
quite out of the question also. She envied girls possessed 
of spirit enough to act thus, but owned that such an initia- 
tive was wholly beyond her power. What could she say ? 
what could she do ? 

Rapha’s words had impressed Gracie deeply. In her 
present frame of mind she could not set them at nought 
any more than the Ten Commandments. Oh ! if that 
kind, gentle, affectionate Mr. Morrow had only proposed 
to her a week ago, and saved her from this odious, this 
fearful dilemma ! 

Gracie was in reality as much afraid to go back as the 


HELPED OUT OF A DILEMMA. 


277 


naughty child just alluded to, who knows that the dunce’s 
cap at school means the rod at home also. What she 
dreaded most was her mother’s quiet, implacable insistence 
— the invaluable quality of inexhaustible perseverance* 
Drop by drop, inch by inch, fair and softly goes far in 
the day, were Lady Letitia’s maxims of life ; and very good 
maxims, too, when applied to recalcitrant daughters. And 
underlying this insistence was a vein of bitter, even cruel 
irony. Lady Letitia, with the serenest smile in the world, 
could utter words that hurt like the stab of a knife or the 
branding with a hot iron. And once more, when heart-sick 
and despairing, at the end of her mental resources, and no 
nearer a loophole of escape than before — once more the 
thought flashed across Gracie’s mind, ‘ Had Mr. Morrow 
only proposed to me a week ago !* 

The thought was hardly come and gone, when Mr. 
Morrow himself appeared at the door of the railway-carriage. 
Gracie was now permitted to travel by railway unaccom- 
panied, and was starting for Strawton from the Midland 
Station. 

Mr. Morrow stood bareheaded, quite unable, as usual, 
to know what to do. The young lady being alone, was it 
iri accordance with the rules of propriety to enter the same 
carriage ? 

Fortunately the brusqueness of the guard decided him. 
Pushing in the dilatory traveller, he slammed the door to, 
blew his whistle, and the train steamed off. 

Gracie recovered self-possession in a moment. She was 
not going to let Mr. Morrow into her little secret. A hand- 
shake, a courteous good-morning, and she was outwardly 
herself. 

The agitation, indeed, seemed all on Mr. Morrow’s side 


278 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


now. He took off his hat and put it on again ; moved fiom 
one seat to another ; opened his paper as if he felt that he 
ought to read, re-folded it the moment after; and finally 
jerked out with a smile and a blush ; 

‘I am so happy to find that you travel alone. I fan- 
cied * 

He seemed too timid, too overcome, to say what he 
fancied. 

‘ My sisters do not as yet do so/ Grade answered. * I 
am the oldest of the family,’ she added, with sad dignity. 

That allusion to her age emboldened Mr. Morrow. It 
recalled the pleasing fact that she was not so young as to 
consider a man of fifty old. He grew more and more at 
his ease. 

‘ After all,’ he said, ‘ on a line like this you are sure to be 
among neighbours. Everybody at Strawton is a season- 
ticket-holder. I came down with a dozen acquaintances 
this morning, for instance, Mr Rapham among the number.’ 

That mention of Mr. Rapham made Gracie shiver. It 
brought back all the wretchedness and weight of care for a 
moment forgotten. She affected gaiety and recklessness in 
order to hide her desperate mood. 

‘ Oh !’ she laughed, ‘ I have no fear. I would travel to 
the other end of the world alone, had I the chance.’ 

‘ How delightful to find a young lady possessed of so 
much spirit,’ Mr. Morrow said, amazed at his own con- 
fidence. ‘ I have often wished to make a journey round the 
world also.’ 

‘ Why don’t you ?’ asked Gracie, in her heart envying Mr. 
Morrow, envying every one of his sex. At least, a man is 
not compelled to yield to maternal pressure. He can go 
where he likes, marry whom he chooses, she thought. 


HELPED OUT OF A DILEMMA. 


279 


Mr. Morrow coloured, and again became timidity in- 
carnate. He replied, in a tone of extreme, almost painful 
hesitation : 

‘ Why don’t I ? If you will permit me I will tell you why 
— because I do not like travelling by myself. I suppose 
it is a natural feeling.’ 

Then he sighed and looked pensive. 

* I don’t think it is,’ Gracie replied laughingly. * Women, 
of course, cannot make long journeys alone, but many men 
prefer to do so. My cousin Jack — you have met Jack 
Braden, I think ? — would not be bored with a companion, 
he says, on any account whatever. As to taking his sister 
with him when he goes to Japan or the North Pole, he says 
he would lose his ears first.’ 

‘ Mr. Braden is young,’ Mr. Morrow put in reflectively. 

‘ And very wild,’ Gracie said. 

She hardly knew what she was saying ; she only knew that 
she must say something. 

‘ I should like nothing better than to travel with him, if he 
would only let me. He always has as many adventures as 
the heroes of Jules Verne’s stories,’ she added. 

‘ I did not know you were of an adventurous turn,’ Mr. 
Morrow said, looking at the flushed, excited girl, wondering 
what had happened to make her so easy, so confidential. 

Gracie made no answer, but looked out of the window 
with a desperate thought in her mind. 

‘ Oh, why,’ she was asking herself, * when a w'oman is at 
bay, as I am, when all her own people are against her, as 
mine, are — why may not a girl unburden herself to a good, 
honest, affectionate man like this, and say, “ Take me ! 
Only free me from my prison, make me your wife, and the 
debt of gratitude shall be amply paid ”?’ 


28 o 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


Things had brought the daughter of a noble house to 
such a pass as this ! The train was speeding on ; in twenty 
minutes more the porters would shout ‘ Strawton !’ and she 
would be driven home in the big carriage drawn by two 
horses, envied, perhaps, by the pale straw-plaiters as they 
glanced at her from the dull manufactory windows, in reality 
the unhappiest creature that wintry sun shone down upon. 

And again and again she said to herself ; 

‘ Why, oh, why was an initiative never permitted to her 
sex ? Why were the doors of manly help, sympathy, affec- 
tion, never to be opened save from within 
, It was unfortunate for the timid lover that he could not 
read her thoughts. Counting the scant moments as they 
glided by, painfully reflecting that such an opportunity of 
speaking out might never occur again, Mr. Morrow neverthe- 
less felt quite unable to go beyond common-places. 

‘ Adventure is very alluring, certainly. I am not surprised 
that you are attracted by it. A certain neighbour of ours, I 
fancy, is an adventurer. Mr. Rapham * 

‘ Don’t speak of Mr. Rapham !’ Gracie cried, with an 
aghast look. 

That look, and the changed expression of her face as she 
turned round quickly, confronting him, gave Mr. Morrow 
courage. He was not wholly in the dark as to Mr. Rapham’s 
overtures to the Lowfunds ladies. Rumours had reached 
his ears that the rich trader, having cast off his daughter, 
was anxious to marry again. His frequent visits to Lady 
Letitia, and the attentions he showed to the family, all 
pointed to one conclusion. 

Gracie’s deprecatory words and glance told him much 
more. Hesitating and diffident, Mr. Morrow was not wanting 
in tact Kindness of heart and delicacy of feeling stood 


HELPED OUT OF A DILEMMA. 


281 


him in stead for the superior keenness of observation pos- 
sessed by other men. Light flashed on him now. He 
understood Gracie’s unnatural animation, her alternating 
flushes and pallor, the traces of tears on her cheeks. Mr. 
Rapham had asked her to marry him, and Lady Letitia 
pressed the suit. The poor girl, like some unhappy bird, 
was struggling in the toils of a snare, from which, if once 
drawn around her, she could never escape. 

*I won’t speak of Mr. Rapham, of course, since you do 
not wish it,’ he said, in a wholly altered voice, the voice of 
a lover pleading his own cause. 

Her agitation made him eloquent. 

- ‘ I want, indeed, very much to speak of myself. I hope 
Mr. Rapham — pray forgive me, I intended on no account 
to mention a name so distasteful to you. What I wanted 
to say was, I am so happy that Mr. Rapham — a thousand 
pardons — that nobody has forestalled me • at least, I hope 
such is the case. We have so very little time left — the next 
station is Strawton. Dear Miss Lowfunds — dear Gracie ! 
do tell me before the train stoys that I am not fore- 
stalled.’ 

But Gracie found time to tell him much more. In the 
midst of her loneliness, in the midst of worldliness and 
artificiality from which a moment before she had seen no 
escape, the voice of true, honest affection had spoken. 

What did it matter to her that Mr. Morrow was a retired 
manufacturer? Had he been a retired chimney-sweep, he 
would have, all the same, worn the garb of an angel just 
then. 

She could not think of traditional family pride or dignity. 
Sincerity compelled sincerity, openness called for openness 
in turn. 


282 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


So, in that brief interval, she poured out her story, the 
first woman’s story ever confided to Mr. Morrow’s ears. 
He had saved her from a life of shame and dishonour, 
perhaps from worse things still ; and, as Grade’s candid 
eyes met those of her unromantic yet manly lover, she read 
there assurances of a very different future. Life might be 
prosaic by Mr. Morrow’s side ; certainly the lot awaiting 
her as his wife could be no brilliant one. But the path 
before her was straight apd open; wayside flowers would 
border it, the broad heavens shine upon it and no whispers 
of conscience spoil the daily sum of peace. 

‘ Dear me !’ Lady Letitia said, when Grade, with smiles 
and tears, had told Her strange story. ‘ What a mercy we 
did not begin to mark the linen with “G. R.”! It must, of 
course, all go back now, and a much more inexpensive 
trousseau be bought — unless Charlotte will really accept 
Mr. Rapham. I will talk to her seriously about it.’ 

Grade forbore to make any intercession for her sister. 
Charlotte, she knew, was well able to take care of herself. 
But for the rest of the day, and many days after, she was 
like a bird escaped from prison. She laughed, she danced, 
she sang; she behaved. Lady Letitia at last said, with a 
giddiness very unbecoming in the eldest of six sisters. 

‘ And really. Grade,’ she said, ‘ one might suppose you 
were going to marry a duke instead of a retired manu- 
facturer. Such is the pass things have come to in these 


THE DEMON OF WRATH. 


283 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE DEMON OF WRATH. 

We are told that sparrows and French beans are never seen 
in Siberia ; otherwise, but for hedgerow chirpers and vegeta- 
tion in wayside gardens, many a winter day at home might 
remind us of Russia’s purgatory. At Strawton, for instance, 
when once winter set in, cold gray days, -accompanied by 
a nipping blast, would succeed each other with terrible 
monotony ; so bare the landscape, so uniform the leaden 
cloudage, that sparrows and cabbage-beds seemed the only 
advantage over the frozen-up Steppes. In more cheerful 
and picturesque spots the cold is felt less, and winter seems 
supportable. 

Certainly there were days at Strawton when earth wore 
the aspect of an awful prison, and rose-gardens, balmy 
honeysuckle bowers, nightingales, and azure seas, seemed 
the wild imaginings of fancy. 

On such a morning of outward depression, Mr. Rapham 
was riding to his farm. He had given up his sulky for a 
time, on account of the cold, and now rode a quiet cobj 
the exercise warmed him, and he could ponder as he went. 
On this especial morning he was in about as evil a frame of 
mind as a man can well be. Everything seemed to go 
against his wishes. 

Lady I^titia had just written the most engaging little 
note in the world, not to refuse the proposed alliance, only 
to delay matters somewhat; the anxious mother, indeed, 


284 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


hoped that Charlotte might be induced to step into her 
elder sister’s shoes. 

*My dear Grace entertains much esteem for you/ she 
wrote ; ‘ but there are obstacles she did not like to confide 
even' to her mother at first. I find that her affections are 
already bestowed upon another. x\gain, to become engaged 
to-day and to marry to-morrow— permit me to say, such 
precipitation is wholly against the usages of society. Even 
if my second daughter consents to accept the honour you 
proposed to bestow upon her sister, a little time must be 
given. Meanwhile, a cover will always be laid for you at 
our table, and I sincerely hope that in this case, friendship 
may ripen into a warmer feeling, for the future comfort and 
happiness of us both.’ 

Now if there was one thing that ruffled Mr. Rapham’s 
temper, it was dilatoriness. What he made up his mind to 
do, he always wanted to do off-hand, without a moment’s 
delay. He was now considering whether or no he should 
not throw aside this aristocratic alliance altogether, and 
commission his universal agent to find him a wife. 

Allchere would find the matter easy enough. There 
could be no possible difficulty about it. If he wrote to 
him to-day, he would arrange everything by that day 
se’nnight — have forthcoming alike bride, trousseau, and 
marriage license. 

He had the greatest mind in the world to see him at 
once about it A pretty, lady-like governess, some poor 
clergyman’s daughter, was what he wanted ; not too young, 
but not middle-aged, that was the thing. Hundreds and 
thousands of handsome girls without a penny would snatch 
at the offer. He had only to make it. 

On the other hand, as he cogitated the text of Lady 


THE DEMON OF WRATH, 


285 


Letitia’s missive, he felt that it was a putting off rather 
than a rebuff. By waiting, by exercising a little diplomacy, 
he might accomplish his wishes. He would send his 
bride-elect a handsome present, and thus bribe her into 
compliance. 

Certainly one of the Lowfunds ladies would suit him 
admirably. Such an alliance would lift him in the social 
scale. Were he fortunate enough to have a son, that son 
would take his place as a fine gentleman when arrived at 
man’s estate. The future of the house of Rapham, as far 
as rank and position went, would be assured. 

Pondering thus, his mind turned with extreme bitterness 
to Villedieu. He said to himself that Villedieu was the 
author of all these imbroglios ; but for that man Rapha 
would now be quietly at home, and himself under no dis- 
agreeable necessity of seeking a wife. 

This last contretemps, he never doubted for a moment, 
was of Villedieu’s authorship also. Lady Letitia, or Lady 
Letitia’s friends, had taken fright at those speeches of his ; 
they were trying to make her believe that ugly facts would 
come to light about his past history, and doing their best to 
make a bogey of him. 

‘ Let them try,’ Mr. Rapham said, between his set teeth ; 
‘ I am a match for them all.’ 

Yet another disagreeable fact had come to his know- 
ledge that morning. Villedieu had paid the money, and 
was therefore free to vilify him to his heart’s content. If 
there was one thing that exasperated Mr. Rapham beyond 
endurance, it was when people he had a grudge against 
got out of his debt. He liked people, up to a certain 
point, to owe him money. It gave him a hold upon 
them. 


286 


THE PARTING OF THE WA YS, 


As chance would have it, a turn of the road disclosed a 
horseman riding slowly towards him, with loosened reins, 
evidently in deep thought. 

The pair were as yet at a considerable distance from each 
other, but Mr. Rapham^s sharp eyes recognised Villedieu at 
once. 

If the elder man’s mind brooded vindictively upon the 
younger, certainly Villedieu was thinking with still bitterer 
feelings of the trader. 

And if the first felt that he had more than his share of 
worries, directly or indirectly brought about by the rider in 
the distance, the second felt that no one need envy him, 
and that if one man can be called another's evil genius, 
Ralph Rapham was his. 

There were anxieties about money, to begin with. He 
had paid back the thousand pounds ; how, he hardly knew. 
The extrication seemed miraculous as rescue to a half- 
drowned man. He only knew that if he had got out of 
one difficulty, it was to plunge himself into half a dozen 
more. 

What galled him above everything was the old trader’s 
transaction with his wife. It savoured not only of dis- 
honesty but cowardice to him thus to take commercial 
advantage of a needy, inexperienced girl. And do what 
he would, he could not bring Norrice to forget it. The 
mortification of being cheated, the sense of having dis- 
appointed him, rankled in her memory. 

She tried to be her old, bright, vivacious self ; she 
was devotedness and wifely sympathy incarnate; but 
everything seemed an effort to her. When not occupied 
in helping him, she was cold, absorbed, as he thought, 
apathetic. 


The demon of wrath. 


287 


Naturally Villedieu set down Norrice’s changed manner 
to the wrong cause. The truth never occurred to him — that 
Norrice should suspect him of having married her for her 
money; and unsuspicious as he ,was of the truth, her 
conduct naturally made another grievance. 

He secretly accused her of want of spirit, of succumbing 
to evil fortune at the very moment when he most needed 
the stimulus of hope and energy. 

There was, moreover, another source of irritation. The 
fame of the inventress began to be noised abroad. Hardly 
a day now passed but he received some cruelly ironic com- 
pliment paid to his wife, or equally hollow congratulations 
offered to himself. 

‘How delightful to hear of genius for once being 
rewarded !’ said one. 

‘Happy Mrs. Villedieu!* cried another, ‘to enjoy alike 
fame and — in spite of all the moralists may say— its most 
appreciable reward 1* 

‘ Lucky fellow 1* would be the felicitation of a third. 
‘ Instead of having a wife who screams at a mouse, or goes 
into hysterics when the chimney catches fire, to be blessed 
with a companion whose brains at a pinch would suffice for 
you both.* 

What answer could he make to such sallies as these? 
He was too proud to own the humiliating truth even to his 
intimate friends. He let them have their way, and imagine 
him on the way to fortune. 

Doubtless the horizon would clear soon, but at present it 
was gloomy enough. 

No wonder that the two men encountered each other 
with veritable thunder-clouds on their brows. Villedieu 
was about to pass with a curt ‘Good-day* and a nod, 


288 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


but Mr. Rapham pulled up, evidently determined on a 
parley. 

‘You’ve paid me my money, I see,’ he began gruffly. 

Had he accused Villedieu of picking his pocket he could 
not have used a more injured, aggressive tone. 

‘Yes, sir,’ Villedieu replied, with the alert look of a man 
released from an odious bond. ‘ I am happy to think we 
have settled our little account.’ 

‘ Not quite ; don’t be so sure about it,’ the other rej'oined, 
growing more and more morose. ‘You had better leave 
me and my affairs alone, Mr. Villedieu, or it will be the 
worse for you, I can tell you that 1’ 

Villedieu smiled scornfully. 

‘ Really,’ he replied, with the quietly sarcastic air so 
exasperating to a man in a passion, ‘ I don’t understand you 
in the least. I thought your worst was done already.’ 

‘ Mayn’t a man call in money when it is his own ? Folks 
in straits should keep a civil tongue in their heads.’ 

The vulgar familiarity of this speech roused the other’s 
ire. If the trader was boiling up at the notion that Villedieu 
had alienated him from his daughter, and was now thwarting 
his marriage, Villedieu in turn was giving way to long pent- 
up indignation. This man had not only ruined his wife’s 
fortunes, he had brought about the misunderstanding that 
made wedlock a wretched parody. 

‘ I am not thinking of the loan,’ he replied, with a care- 
less sneer ; ‘ your worst was surely done when you cheated 
my wife out of her invention — for the young lady in 
question is now married to me.’ 

‘Just pay attention to your words, will you?’ retorted 
Mr. Rapham menacingly. ‘ I won’t be called a cheat in 
any country I’ 


THE DEMON OF WRATH, 


289 


‘I don’t know by what other name to designate such 
a transaction,’ Villedieu said, too indignant to mince 
matters any longer. ‘You had consulted experts, and 
were fully sensible of the value of the wares offered for 
sale, whilst the seller was left in the dark. If this can be 
called an honest, much less an honourable proceeding, then 
words have no meaning.’ 

‘ Do you call me a cheat, or do you not ?’ cried the other, 
now no longer able to control himself. 

‘ I have said all I had to say,’ was the cool reply. 

Villedieu, touching his horse’s flank, was about to ride on, 
when Mr. Rapham caught hold of the rein. 

‘ But I have not,’ he said, in a voice now hoarse with 
passion. ‘It was you who set my own child againk me! 
You who egged on the riff-raff here to burn me in effigy ! 
You who try to make folks think me a blackguard ! And 
not content with that, you call me a swindler to my face, do 
you ? I’m not a slave, I’d have you to know, though I come 
from the country where slaves are.’ 

But for that last sentence Villedieu would have borne 
Mr. Rapham’s affronts passively, by might and main have 
freed himself from his hold and ridden away as fast as he 
could. The humiliation of such a hand-to-hand encounter, 
the respect due to age, his wife’s affection for Rapha, would 
have checked his exasperation and stayed his arm. Thai 
final gibe, that odious expression of defiance, flashing, as it 
did, light upon a dark, infamous career, suddenly transformed 
the neighbour and former acquaintance into a mere ruffian, 
to be punished accordingly. 

If there was one vice Villedieu held in abhorrence it was 
cowardliness, the taking base advantage of the weak and un- 
befriended. Cowardliness incarnate seemed before him in 


19 


290 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


the person of Mr. Rapham. Had he not amassed wealth 
by the most ignoble means a man can resort to, and further 
enriched himself at the expense of a helpless girl ? 

Lastly, there was the damning fact of aggression. Before 
he could avert the blow, the other’s riding-whip was laid 
across his face. Whatever the issue of this encounter might 
be, the responsibility rested with the aggressor. 

Swift as lightning these thoughts had come and gone. 

Villedieu could not reason now ; not Mr. Rapham him- 
self was in a fiercer, more unbridled mood. And for the 
moment it seemed, indeed, as if these two horsemen were 
bent upon doing each other deadliest injury. It was the 
meeting together of two thunder-clouds, the shock of moun- 
tain torrents as they mingle, the hustling of fierce animals 
at feud. 

No one was there to witness the scene, surely as strange 
as any enacted that winter day ! A distant observer might 
have supposed some playful passage of arms taking place, 
the two figures springing upon each other from the saddle ; 
their uplifted arms and violent gestures must surely simulate 
some wild conflict. But a nearer survey would have undone 
this delusion, and revealed the horrid truth : it is not only 
on the battlefield that the savage element latent in human 
nature comes out. The spectacle of these two horsemen, 
moreover, was strangely in keeping with the sombre heavens 
and monotonous gray landscape. A very death in life of 
Nature was here, without the beautiful, shroud-like appear- 
ance imparted by snow. 

The world seemed a home of evil passions rather than 
good on such a day. 


HOMELY MIRACLES, 


291 


CHAPTER VIII. 

HOMELY MIRACLES. 

One cheering item had reached Villedieu’s ears, however, 
on the eve of that encounter with Mr. Rapham. The date 
of the General Election was put off. A loophole of escape 
lay open to him. 

‘ On my word,’ he said, in one of those reckless moods 
that pained Norrice deeply, ‘ the very best thing that could 
possibly happen to us both would be the collapse of my 
candidature. We would go abroad. Living is cheap in 
Italy. We would wait till something turned up — till I could 
pay some of my debts. Of what use are all the fine theories 
in the world, unless you have money to back them ? Any- 
how, I am going to Strawton early to-morrow morning to see 
how things look.’ 

That prospect of an idle, careless life in Italy would have 
been enchanting to Norrice under other circumstances ; but 
the notion of thus fleeing from duty, of shirking voluntarily 
incurred responsibility, was unbearable to her. Could she 
only come to her husband’s aid now, and thus be the means 
of ensuring him an honourable, a useful career I 

She realized with the infirmities of his character its good 
side also. She saw that, like many another, he only needed 
favourable conditions to be true to his best, his manliest self. 
It is not the highest natures than can take root like the 
grass blade anywhere. Fine and uncommonly endowed 
temperaments must have a certain soil, a certain atmosphere 

19—2 


292 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


to blossom in ; adverse influences dwarf or even crush them 
past recovery. To Norrice now, this alternative of her 
husband’s became a question of vital importance, a matter 
of life and death. 

She set to work on his behalf as zealously as some poor 
chatelaine of the Middle Ages bent on amassing the ransom 
of her lord, taken prisoner in the Crusades. She must, she 
would achieve another invention, and thus repair his 
fortunes. 

She had been led, as we have seen, to make her first dis- 
coveries by the sight of under-fed women and ill-grown 
children staggering under burdens far beyond their strength. 
Familiarity with another kind of hardship now stimulated 
her to fresh inquiry and experiment. 

Not far from Strawton, by the high-road, was the town 
laundry, managed by a company. In her former capacity 
of Sunday-school teacher she had known many of the girls 
employed here, and had often visited the premises when 
they were at work. 

It was chiefly in summer that she pitied these .poor things. 
Was it any wonder that many went wrong ? — condemned as 
they were from morning till night to stand at the ironing- 
board, their faces blowzed and dusty, their hands swollen 
with the heat, their bodies, in spite of the thinnest clothing, 
in a perpetual state of perspiration. 

Norrice asked herself if babies were any the healthier or 
happier for the embroidered frocks so laboriously ironed, if 
ladies slept any the sounder for the dozens of frills crimped 
and goffered on their nightgear, if a certain gloss on the shirt- 
front gave a diner-out a better appearance. And one day, 
wholly on a sudden, the thought struck her that every one 
of these processes, from the getting up of an infant’s robe to 


HOMELY MIRACLES, 


293 


a parson’s surplice, could be as well, if not better, done by 
machinery. 

The temperature of an ironing-room must be high under 
any circumstances ; but what a difference between the task 
of bending, flat-iron in hand, over the board, and manipu- 
lating a machine ! The laboriousness of the two processes 
could not for a moment bear comparison. 

The drooping, hollow chests of the laundry girls, and 
the heavy percentage of consumptive patients at Strawton, 
told their own tale. Children born of such mothers were, 
indeed, a wholly different race to those who suck in a 
splendid physique with their mothers’ milk. 

So she cogitated and cogitated, and finally set to work, 
keeping her own counsel for the present, not even mention- 
ing a word of the matter to her husband. Her crowning 
triumph was to be a surprise to him. 

The enterprise she had embarked upon might well have 
daunted a less valiant spirit. She could, as yet, only try in 
miniature what she hoped to effect on a large scale. 

No one was by to help or advise. Money was not forth- 
coming for the purchase of the necessary fuel and appliances. 
And should she attain her end, perfect her ironing-machine, 
was she certain of finding a ready purchaser ? 

The essential point, however, as all inventors know, is to 
make sure of your principle. Be positive of that, and, like 
Columbus, you will find your America at last. Norrice 
never doubted that her America was there ; the difficulty 
was how to reach it. 

Whenever she had a spare day, she flew to the little work- 
shop at Strawton. What she could be about with her big 
fires puzzled Mrs. Bee extremely, but she forebore to make 
inquiries. She noticed that Norrice seemed unnaturally, 


294 


THE PARTING OF THE WA YS. 


feverishly animated at times, whilst she was seldom without 
a look of great weariness. 

The truth was, Norrice worked much too hard at home, 
that is to say, in Villedieu’s bachelor quarters ; she acted 
the part of clerk, secretary, and amanuensis. 

‘ This won’t do,’ he would say ruefully. * If I can’t afford 
to pay a secretary, I will give up the whole concern. You 
deserve one much more than I do.’ 

Such remarks pleased her, and she invariably humoured 
him in her reply : 

‘ It is only for a time. When you are once in Parliament 
I shall leave you to shift for yourself? 

There came such occasional glimpses of the old con- 
fidence and affection ; but the next moment Norrice would 
feel conscious of bitter disenchantment. She had brought 
him no money; the k-ast she could do was to become 
money’s worth to him. 

Her first essay had been on a very modest scale. She 
knew well enough that if a baby’s feeder could be ironed by 
mechanical processes, so could a lady’s slip. Were the 
simpler experiment successfully performed, the more elabo- 
rate could present but little difficulty. She therefore first 
tried her hand upon small dandyisms of attire hitherto made 
smooth and shining by painful manipulation. 

At last, after numerous experiments, and in the teeth of 
difficulties past counting also, it really seemed to her that 
she was very near attainment. The continent might be at 
some distance yet ; she nevertheless descried unmistakable 
signs of land. 

To her intense delight, one morning she accomplished 
the successful ironing of a man’s wristbands and collar by 
machinery. 


HOMELY MIRACLES, 


295 


‘Come, do come here this very moment, mammy dear !’ 
she cried, unable for the life of her to keep her blissful 
secret to herself. ‘Did you ever see anything prettier or 
neater ?’ 

There, before the delighted eyes of Mrs. Bee — Mrs. Bee 
was never astonished at anything — she adjusted another 
wristband starched and damped, and turned the handle of 
her machine ; the roller with its hot iron plates went round, 
and out came Villedieu’s cuff, as perfectly ironed as if it 
had passed through the hands of some skilled French clear- 
starcher. 

‘ Dear me !’ Mrs. Bee cried, with her half-pleased, half- 
contemptuous air. ‘Do you mean to say, Norrie, you are 
the first person to have thought of anything so simple as 
that ? But a petticoat, a shirt, a surplice now ! Turn out 
these by machinery, and you would have done something 
worth looking at !* 

Norrice’s look of exultation faded ; an expression almost 
of anguish sharpened her features. 

‘ Oh !’ she said, wringing her hands ; ‘ had I only the 
means ! had I but a full purse to go to, I could accomplish 
all that you say, and much more. Mother,’ she added, 
turning to Mrs. Bee with agonized, almost frantic entreaty, 
‘you are a wonderful contriver. How can I get a little 
money ?’ 

Mrs. Bee, in spite of her apparent simplicity and trans- 
parency of character, was a deep woman. She possessed a 
keenness of observation, a fine tact, a sensitiveness that 
the more brilliant or accomplished of her sex might well 
envy. 

That little speech of Norrice’s revealed to her the truth 
she had been s 3 painfully seeking. It showed the riddle 


296 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 

of Norrice’s unhappiness, and laid bare the mystery of her 
married life. 

‘There are always ways and means of getting a little 
money,* she replied, in a voice full of cheerful encourage- 
ment. ‘Let me think.* 

‘ Mother,’ Norrice added in that same voice of passionate, 
pathetic appeal, now too much moved to conceal anything, 
too lonely not to flee to this motherly bosom, ‘ you see this 
invention. If I had only twenty pounds — twenty pounds of 
my very own — I could perfect it and take out a patent. 
There would be plenty of money then for Frederick, for 
yourself, for us all. But where to go for twenty pounds ? My 
hands are tied. My husband forbids me to give lessons, and 
all this while we are spending a great deal, getting into debt. 
If I do not make some money soon, my heart will break !’ 

A less discreet mother than Mrs. Bee would have put un- 
pleasantly direct questions, insisted upon knowing this and 
that, had a fling at a son-in-law unable to earn money him- 
self and too proud to let his wife do it instead. 

Mrs. Bee kept strictly to the point, seeing matters through 
Norrice’s eyes only. 

‘Twenty pounds; let me see. I have always been able 
to do anything I set my mind upon with a little manage- 
ment, and I won’t be balked and baffled now. Just leave 
the matter to me. I will think it over.* 

She went away, leaving Norrice in a reverie. She sat 
eyeing her machine as ruefully and wistfully as some poverty- 
stricken penniless mother a sick darling, whom money, and 
money only, could restore to health. 

There was no doubt whatever that money could save her 
now, not from loneliness and sorrow, but from a future of 
bitterness, perhaps shame. And as she thought of her life 


HOMELY MIRACLES, 


297 


with Villedieu, and clutched at visionary wealth on his 
account, she became odious to herself. 

She was no lover of money for its own sake. The things 
she cared most for were independent of worldly fortune. No 
more hateful necessity could be forced upon her than this 
craving for wealth at any cost. 

Her mother’s hopeful' words had no power to hearten her. 
Twenty pounds were surely as unattainable to a woman in 
Mrs. Bee’s position as a thousand ; while, for herself, she 
was completely at the end of her resources. Already she 
had pledged the few trinkets she knew her husband would 
not miss. She had sold the most valuable of her scientific 
books, even her wardrobe had been reduced ; and the little 
store with which she had entered upon married life was now 
almost empty. The bare notion of going to Villedieu for 
money was insupportable; yet twenty pounds might now 
prove the turning-point of their worldly fortunes. 

‘Take this, or this,’ he would say, from time to time, 
pressing a five or ten pound note upon her ; * you must 
want money.’ 

But so long as she had a guinea of her own she refused ; 
nothing should induce her to add to the sum of her hus- 
band’s debts. 

Yet it was hard — hard ! 

She knew well that her credit as an inventor stood high. 
Once this new machine was brought to perfection and pro- 
perly protected by patent, she should run no chance of 
lacking a buyer. But she must have something on a hand- 
some scale to show; at present, her little model looked 
rather like a scientific toy than a machine destined to work 
an economic revolution. 

How long she remained thus lost in thought she knew 


298 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


not ; she was at last aroused from her musings by the fall 
ing of something smooth and cold upon her hand. 

Without a word Mrs. Bee had stolen in, and now pressed 
a handful of gold coins into her passive palm ; then as softly 
and silently she stole out of the room. 

Norrice started from her seat with a wild cry of surprise 
and exultation. She held open both hands ; she counted 
her treasure again and again. There could be no mistake 
about it ; the so-desired sum was there, her own. Twenty 
pounds ! twice ten, real, unmistakable English sovereigns I 

Her machine was saved. 

‘ Mother ! mother !’ she cried in a voice choked with 
tears. 

Mrs. Bee, however, made no answer. What need has a 
mother of thanks ? She realized the humour her child was 
in ; better, far better to leave her alone for the present ! 

Norrice, also, when the first thrill of gratitude and 
astonishment was over, was well pleased to be left to herself. 
She sank on her knees, and the golden guineas, each a 
symbol of sublime motherly devotion, were bedewed with 
tears, covered with kisses, sanctified by prayers and bene- 
dictions. 


A BRIDE ON APPROVAL 


299 


CHAPTER IX. 

A BRIDE ON APPROVAL. 

That equestrian encounter, although resulting in no bodily 
injury to either combatant, had weighty consequences. Mr. 
Rapham decided promptly that over-much of civilization 
did not suit him. Pie should feel more at home in a society 
less hemmed round with conventionalities, less subjected to 
minute criticism, less over-crowded. California, for instance, 
might suit him ; or better still, a settlement on the Congo 
river. He would throw up the whole concern — his English 
farming, his housekeeping by contract, and carry a young 
wife with him to some new country, there to become a 
personage indeed, found a family, maybe a township, even 
a state of his own, to be called after him for ever. 

It sounds a contradiction, yet is surely characteristic of 
human nature, that not Villedieu himself could more deeply 
resent the humiliation of the recent occurrence than Mr. 
Rapham. Perhaps, indeed, the fastidious gentleman, the 
polished man of the world, felt less keenly the sense of 
wounded pride than did the old trader. Villedieu had not 
the character of a gentleman to make. Villedieu, moreover, 
was not the aggressor. He could afford to treat the matter 
with contempt. 

Mr. Rapham realized that it would not be so easy for 
himself to get over the affair. Even the friendliest of his 
neighbours would begin to regard him as a half-savage. No 
“ first chop of county society,” as Allchere had called it, for 


300 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


him now. If he remained at Strawton, he must sink into 
the condition of a nonentity. The smallest tenant-farmer, 
the humblest manufacturer, eligible as churchwarden and 
town councillor, would be of more social importance. 

He rode home in a condition of body and mind unen- 
viable enough. The effect of Villedieu’s castigation would 
wear off in a few days ; it was nothing to speak of. But he 
felt weary, feverish, and morbidly anxious for change. Both 
place and people here were now odious to him. The sooner 
he could get away the better. 

As he was crossing the hall in the direction of the dining- 
room, the automatic butler accosted him. 

‘ If you please, sir,’ he said, without the faintest sign of 
interest or curiosity, ‘ the young lady has come.’ 

Mr. Rapham started as if suddenly reminded of some 
unpleasant contingency. Had the man told him that the 
house was on fire he could hardly have looked more aghast. 

An oath rose to his lips, but he checked himself, and 
went straight to his own room. 

‘Bring a glass of wine and a sandwich here,’ he said, 
‘ and serve lunch without me.’ 

He had forgotten that command sent to headquarters a 
few days ago. He had written to Allchere and Company 
saying that he wanted a young lady^ on approval, as reader, 
companion, secretary, whatever they pleased to call it. She 
must be young, handsome, well-mannered, amiable, well- 
educated, and not engaged to be married. He would have 
no hangers-on about his premises, he added, leaving the 
experts of the great contracting house to read as much as 
they chose between the lines. He was not going to be such 
a fool as to tell all the world that if the girl suited him he 
intended to marry her. 


A BRIDE ON APPROVAL. 


301 


By the next post came thfe most satisfactory reply 
imaginable. 

* We have the pleasure to inform you,’ wrote Allchere 
and Company, ‘that a young lady exactly answering to 
your requirements is just open to an engagement. We will 
therefore send her down to Strawton Park to-morrow, on 
approval.’ 

‘ They are so — out and out sharp,’ murmured Mr. Rapham, 
as, stretched on the sofa, he sipped his sherry and ate his 
sandwich. ‘ I didn’t want a woman about the place just 
now. How^ever, if the girl is a smart girl and tractable. I’ll 
marry her, as true as my name is Ralph Rapham.’ 

Then he closed his eyes and tried to drowse. 

Meantime the new-comer, the bride-elect on approval, 
was doing justice to her excellent luncheon with happy 
unconcern. She was evidently no adventuress, this tall, 
handsome blonde girl, as beautifully attired as a West-End 
milliner, and as well endowed with aplomb as an actress. 
An actress she was in a certain sense. Worldlings and 
psychologists would have discerned under the veneer of 
schoolgirlish naivete and artlessness a knowledge of the 
world, a finesse, that altogether escaped Mr. Rapham’s 
observation. 

Truth to tell, she was no mere waif and stray thrown 
suddenly upon her own resources, but one of Allchere and 
Company’s most accomplished auxiliaries ; a member, in- 
deed, of their feminine staff, and kept on the premises 
ready, like a fireman, for any emergency. 

To-day a well-educated girl would be needed to accom- 
pany a yachting-party on a voyage round the world, a girl 
who could play and sing, dance,- act charades, get up 
tableaux-vivants — in short, amuse everybody. Another day 


302 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


it would be some elderly 'dowager whose companion had 
suddenly eloped with the footman. She must have a young 
lady of high character at once, able to keep servants in 
order, look after dogs, and make afternoon teas go off 
agreeably. 

However difficult their clients might be to please, Allchere 
and Company generally succeeded, and naturally the post 
vacated by Rapha^s marriage had been filled with the 
greatest care. Moreover, in spite of the automatic behaviour 
of their officials, they contrived to know a good deal of what 
was passing around them. The rupture between father and 
daughter, too, was now matter of public comment. 

Mr. Rapham, there could be no doubt of it, intended to 
marry again. It was a bride-elect he wished to be sent 
down on approval. The candidate for such an honour must 
do credit to the great contracting house. 

AVhen dinner was announced, Mr. Rapham found in his 
drawing-room a vision of girlish freshness, grace, and ani- 
mation that recalled Rapha. There was something more 
than fancied coincidence here. 

Not only was the new-comer very nearly of Rapha^s age, 
height, and complexion, she had a certain look of his absent 
daughter, a certain likeness of form as well as feature; 
accidentally, too, she wore a dress of rose-pink, Rapha’s 
favourite colour. 

At first this resemblance, or imaginary resemblance, 
pleased him. He said to himself that it would be easy to 
like a girl who recalled his own child. 

Of Rapha as his daughter he tried not to think ; but 
impersonally, as a typical maiden, just what a woman ought 
to be, he might cherish, her memory. 

To-night all the timidity and hesitation was on his side. 


A BRIDE ON APPROVAL. 


303 

He had dressed himself with unusual care, eyeing his 
withered physiognomy in the glass somewhat ruefully. 
The morning’s encounter certainly had not improved his 
appearance. He had escaped from the fray without tell-tale 
bruises, but looked haggard, and years older, he thought. 
And the great contracting house he relied on in all other 
respects could not help him much here. He might go to 
Allchere and Company for a wig, a beard, a set of teeth, but 
they could not smooth out his wrinkles or rejuvenate him 
by twenty years. 

Well, some girls liked money as much as good looks, he 
said to himself ; and after all, so long as a young wife knew 
her duty to her husband, and fulfilled it, what mattered her 
motive for marrying him? He did not crave affection, 
much less fondness ; he asked for a suitable mistress of his 
house, a woman who should value her privilege as wife of a 
rich man ; above all, a woman likely to bring him blooming 
children. . 

Weary as he was, depressed as he was, and by no means 
in the best of humour either, he yet determined to be agree- 
able. This young girl should not be repelled by his looks 
or behaviour ; she should be made to feel at home. 

‘What is your name, my dear?’ he asked, as they sat 
down to table. 

‘ Leonora — Leonora Carlton,’ she replied smilingly. 

* Goodness alive, what names girls get nowadays !’ he ex- 
claimed. ‘ Why can’t their godfathers and godmothers call 

them Sarah or Susan, as they used to do ? Well, Miss 

what’s your name ?’ 

‘ Call me Laura,’ she said, highly amused with her uncouth 
host ; ‘ that is short, and easy to remember.’ 

‘ Laura, then, you must talk to me. I can’t talk,’ he went 


304 


THE PARTING OF THE WA YS, 


on. * You must just amuse yourself — I can’t amuse anyone. 
How should I?’ 

‘ Why should you ?’ laughed the girl merrily. * If people 
can’t amuse themselves, they deserve to be dull. I don’t 
know what dulness means. I never remember ever having 
a dull moment.’ 

‘ That’s what my daughter * 

Mr. Rapham stopped short, and a look of inexpressible 
anguish came into his face. 

He changed the subject quickly, and Laura discovered 
that she must not talk of the absent Rapha. 

‘Have you ever been out in a situation before?’ he asked. 

Laura answered his question with a frank, girlish insou- 
ciance that again reminded Mr. Rapham of Rapha. Her 
experiences amused him just as Rapha’s used to do, only 
that Laura had more novelties to relate. 

She had accompanied a rich Russian family to Florida, 
acting as companion to a consumptive girl ; she had wintered 
with dowagers at Naples and Cannes ; she had spent a year 
or two in one of the Greek isles as teacher to two little Greek 
boys. 

‘ That was the beginning and the end of my career as a 
teacher,’ she added gaily. ‘ Those little boys, four and five 
years old, used to kick my ankles black and blue, and tear 
out my hair by the handful, and their parents only laughed. 
Then when an earthquake happened, everybody got away, 
leaving me to shift for myself, and but for an old shepherd 
I might have died of hunger.’ 

‘ Have you any relations ?’ asked Mr. Rapham, when one 
lively recital had followed another. 

‘ One brother — poor Tom ! I must tell you his adventures 
in Pernambuco.’ 


A BRIDE ON APPROVAL, 


305 


Poor Tom’s adventures, which were of a buccaneering 
kind, diverted Mr. Rapbam as much as the history of the 
little Greek boys who kicked their governess’s ankles till 
they were black and blue. This sort of narrative he could 
listen to without fatigue ; it reminded him of Rapha’s stories 
of her school-life. 

In the drawing-room an illusion still more trying awaited 
him. He did not care a straw for music, but he liked to 
have Rapha play and sing after dinner. It passed the time, 
it suited the place, and of course the grand piano had been 
bought on purpose. 

When, therefore, the young lady walked up to the piano 
and, striking a chord or two, asked if she should give him a 
little music, he readily acquiesced. 

He knew no more of pianoforte playing or singing than a 
crocodile of dancing, he said; but music was the proper 
thing after dinner ; she should give him a’ song or two by all 
means. 

In these days when feminine accomplishments have ceased 
to be a parody upon education, properly speaking, and 
young ladies are really taught to sing, there must, of course, 
be a great similarity between the performance of contem- 
poraries. The songs Laura learned would be just the songs 
taught to Rapha, and teaching on precisely the same prin- 
ciples would lend a certain level style and execution. 

Laura singing seemed to Mr. Rapham to be Rapha sing- 
ing. As he leaned back in his armchair with eyes closed, 
from time to time sinking into a momentary drowse, he was 
subject to a strange, and at first an agreeable, an enthralling 
hallucination. That clear sweet carol was the voice of no 
stranger, but of Rapha come back again. His own Rapha 
was singing and playing to him. That pink-robed, slender 


3o6 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


figure by the piano was certainly hers ; the fair, shining hair, 
the delicate purple, the rosy cheeks, were hers too. And 
the music and words were very familiar. She had sung this 
song to him again and again. 

In a half-dreamy, semi-conscious state, he listened, allow- 
ing the weird fancy to take possession of him and hold him 
prisoner. 

This was the first time since Rapha’s departure that he 
had been moved with softness towards her, and had felt an 
inexpressible yearning to behold her face once more. 

As the unconscious girl went on singing gaily and artlessly, 
his thoughts became confused. He was no longer master 
of himself. The occurrences of the morning had abnormally 
excited his brain, to begin with ; then came this unexpected, 
irresistible reminder of Rapha. He gradually fell into a 
state of waking dream. He was no longer alone ; Rapha 
had come back. All was again as of old. 

Her song finished — yet another and another — Laura, dis- 
covering that Mr. Rapham slumbered, stole to her room to 
scribble a line to her bosom friend, Clara Carnegie, just to 
tell dearest Clara that her new employer was a very odd man 
indeed ; but she thought that she should have a very easy 
time of it, and only hoped he would keep her. 

Hardly, however, had the door closed behind her, when 
Mr. Rapham woke up with a start. Finding the piano 
deserted, he rang the bell violently, the glamour of his 
dream still upon him. 

‘Miss Rapham — call Miss Rapham,’ he said to the 
footman. 

‘Miss Carlton, sir? She shall come at once,’ was the 
reply. 

The next minute a bright figure danced in, a fair- 


THE VISION. 


307 


haired, slender, blue-eyed girl certainly, like Rapha, yet 
how unlike ! 

‘ I wanted to show you poor Tom’s portrait, taken after 
that encounter with the natives,’ she cried, engaging as 
before. 

But Mr. Rapham, uttering a groah, pushed past her. 

‘ Another time, another time, my dear,’ he murmured, 
as he hastened to his room. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE VISION. 

Mr. Rapham’s first impulse was to send Laura away, 
and beg his agent to replace her by a lady of maturer 
years — a staid, sensible young woman of thirty-five, more 
fitted to fill the place of companion to one of his years. 
Rapha’s image would not then seem to haunt the house, 
Rapha’s figure no longer dog his footsteps like his own 
shadow. 

Laura stayed on, however, rather becaush Mr. Rapham 
drifted into acquiescence than from any prompt decision. 
He was no longer capable of quick, resolute action; the 
events of the last few weeks had shaken and aged him 
even more than he was aware of. He owned that he 
was not now the man he had once been, and that the best, 
the only course for him now was to settle his affairs in 
England with all possible despatch, and take ship for 


20—2 


3o8 the parting OF THE WAYS, 

some new country. Laura should go with him, but in 
her present capacity of housekeeper, companion, whatever 
the world might call her. He would make her his wife 
later. 

‘Would you like to go to California or Texas with 
me?’ he asked one day; and she replied, with girlish 
heartiness : 

‘ Above all things.’ 

A reply not unnatural in a girl whose ankles had been 
kicked black and blue by little pupils. 

Laura, indeed, was ready enough to marry Mr. Rapham 
if he asked her. Anything, she said to herself, was better 
than a life of constant effort and artificiality ; for no matter 
what part she was now called upon to fill by her employers, 
she could not be quite herself. There was always a part 
to play, a veneer of liveliness, sparkle, and good-humour to 
be put on. 

She felt in the position of an actress who is never able 
to quit the stage, to give up her set smile and walk. Pro- 
fessional companions, whether employed by Allchere and 
Company or finding places for themselves, are all under 
the same dire necessity : they must smile and smile, and 
yet be bored to death ! When the profession becomes a 
fine art, endurances and self-sacrifice in little things are 
carried to a pffch of heroism. The finished companion is 
the martyr of modern society. 

Laura was not, of course, to set herself the task of 
winning the widower’s affections. Coquetry was no more 
permitted in the feminine staff of the great contracting 
house than the dropping of /I’s or unconventionalities in 
dress and appearance. 

The young lady ever kept ‘ in stock,’ to use a commercial 


THE VISION, 


309 


phrase, was, above all things, well-bred and circumspect. 
A single breakdown here, would it not involve the downfall 
of the Allchere system? The artificiality was, however, 
far too skilfully, even subtly, managed for Mr. Rapham to 
see. Whilst words, looks, and actions were studied, he 
saw nothing but girlish vivacity, a cordial, even affectionate 
desire to please, and a temper sunny as Rapha’s in happier 
days. 

Whilst Mr. Rapham should have been courting a wife, 
he was in reality being drawn by fatherly instinct towards 
one who was gradually filling the place of his own child. 
There was much, almost everything, in their intercourse 
that recalled the absent daughter. Without Rapha’s ex- 
treme sensitiveness, spiritual-mindedness, and insight into 
the finer relations of things, Laura possessed her flow of 
spirits, her capacity for enjoyment, her accomplishments, 
and far more than Rapha’s cleverness in matters of worldly 
concernment. 

In a very few days it was Laura this, Laura that, when- 
ever Mr. Rapham happened to be in the house, and the 
slender, beautifully dressed figure, the fair face and sweet 
girlish treble, ever recalled the far-off Rapha. He said to 
himself that the feeling would soon wear off; and in order 
to put matters on a permanent basis, and get rid of these 
chimeras, determined to settle the question of marriage 
for once and for all. He would propose to her the next 
day; but when the next came, he said he would say all 
that he had to say on the morrow ; and the morrow and 
post-morrow came, yet he could not for the life of him get 
out a word. 

‘ I think I have heard of just the place to suit us,’ he said 
one morning at breakfast; he had fallen back to the use of 


310 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


the dual pronoun, as in Rapha’s time, tacitly indicating that 
he looked upon Laura’s sojourn under his roof as the 
beginning of a partnership. ‘And thankful I shall be to 
get away from this abominable climate. One might just as 
well be in Siberia,’ he added. 

The parallel seemed apt. Snow had fallen during the 
night, and the heavy clouds threatened more to come. Yet 
how grand, how sublime, was the wintry landscape ! Were 
it not for such spells of almost Arctic weather, we should 
lose impressions that nothing else in Nature can give us. 
For if storm and avalanche symbolize to us human passion 
and tragedy, the whiteness and repose of winter alone can 
symbolize Death — that solemn sleep which lends majesty to 
the meanest of mortal born. 

‘ Yes !’ Laura cried — she was not a young lady given to 
introspection or gravity — and as she spoke she pretended to 
shiver in her well -fitting crimson dress; ‘yes! the orange- 
groves of Florida ! It makes one warm to think of 
them !* 

‘ I suppose you really don’t care a straw where you live,’ 
he asked, ‘ so long as you have everything your heart can 
wish for?’ 

The question was put significantly, and he hoped she 
would understand his real meaning. 

Without affecting to do so, she replied, getting up to hand 
him his second cup of coffee, just as Rapha used to do : 

‘Girls never do care where they live, I fancy. You see, 
if we don’t get one kind of enjoyment, we get another. In 
Russia, sledging and skating ; in California, swinging in a 
hammock all day long. It is pleasant to feel so indifferent 
about things we cannot arrange for ourselves. Myself, for 
instance I I am just as likely to end my days in one place 


THE VISION, 


3 ” 


as another. Kamschatka or Zanzibar, the South Sea Islands 
or Hudson’s Bay — it is all one to me.’ 

Mr. Rapham laughed. She had not before seen him in 
so genial a humour. 

‘You have got your wits about you,’ he said, and from 
his lips that was a fine compliment indeed. 

He let her minister to him in small things, just as Rapha 
had done. 

Breakfast over, she read aloud the only item of news 
from the paper that interested him — namely, the column 
devoted to the money-market. Then she wrote one or two 
short business notes and memoranda at his dictation ; got 
ready his little sandwich tin and sherry flask. He preferred 
when farming, or going to town, to take his luncheon with 
him ; it was far wholesomer, he said, and cost half the 
money of refreshments in the restaurants. Finally, she 
placed hat, gloves, muffler — everything he stood in need of 
— handy, and going to the front-door, would wave adieu as 
he rode off. 

Such little graces of daily life, trifles although they seem, 
in reality play an important part in the sum-total of human 
comfort. Just as in prison discipline it is the absence of 
personality that breaks down the roughest, most unruly 
nature ; thus alike the harsh and the sensitive need some 
liind of domesticity to make existence endurable. 

Had Mr. Rapham returned to civilization a childless 
man, never known the sweetness of Rapha’s intercourse, he 
would most likely have wedded some woman common as 
himself, and so found the sympathy, or what does duty for 
sympathy, necessary alike to the coarser as well as finer 
characters. 

But Rapha’s image was there, and could not be distanced 


31 * 


THE PARTING OF THE WA YS. 


or got rid of. Her influence was upon him, although he 
knew it not. Insensibly, he was amenable to that tribunal 
of guilelessness and purity personified by his child, although 
in the flesh absent, yet in the spirit ever present. 

To-day he was freer than usual from these vain retrospec- 
tions or wistful longings. Rapha, for a brief space, seemed 
banished from memory, and with the feeling of relief came 
a power to look forward. He recalled Laura’s affectionate 
solicitude ; her pretty, taking ways ; her joyous habit of 
looking at things ; and a kind of youthfulness seemed to 
take possession of him. He even said to himself that he 
was not too old to fall in love and begin life over again 
like others. Not that as yet he was the least in love. It 
was hardly in his nature to admire women or women’s 
beauty. His was a temperament capable rather of paternal 
than lover-like tenderness. Conscious of this, he still said 
to himself that the love would come. 

With a brisker step and a brighter eye than usual, he 
made his way to his office, no more singular figure to be 
descried in the living stream flowing through the City. His 
dress had a certain oddity about it ; the gaiters to which he 
clung so persistently ; the short brown velveteen coat, over 
which he wore a cloak clasped at the neck, of the fashion of 
forty years ago, and only set aside upon occasions of 
ceremony; the stiff stock and upright collar, also of a 
former epoch — all these marked him from other men. Far 
more striking than any idiosyncrasy of dress were his looks. 
A glance told you that no European civilian was here ; the 
hall-mark of civilization was as much wanting as in the 
Ojibbeway Indian strayed to some American capital, or the 
tattooed Patagonian exhibited in a London show. A strange, 
indescribable air of half-savagery seemed to cling to him. 


THE VISION., 


313 


The furtive, fox-like look of his small reddish-hued eyes 
spoke of a nature only tamed as far as outward appearances 
went, of a will that yielded to force alone. It was plain, 
too, that this small, spare, eager-eyed man had not lived 
smoothly in the broad light of day. His life, whatever it 
might be, had darkness and mystery about it — was no open 
book that all who ran might read. 

As he threaded the busy streets, more than one passer-by 
turned to look at him. He looked so completely a new- 
comer there, as if he had that moment arrived* from the 
heart of the desert. 

It occurred to Mr. Rapham that as he had made up his 
mind to marry Laura Carlton, he might as well purchase a 
wedding-ring and ask her to accept it ; by far the easiest 
way of making a proposal. He stopped at a jeweller’s shop 
he knew of, and whilst bartering for the ring — he never by 
any chance whatever gave the full price demanded for any- 
thing — a vision of Rapha suddenly flashed upon him. 

* I can wait. AUend to that customer yonder first’ 

Saying this, he pushed back the little tray of rings, and 
standing back to the counter, well screened from view by 
the objects in the window, he gazed out 

A block had just happened in the Strand, and a cab was 
drawn up just in front of the jeweller’s shop, having Rapha 
inside. 

Mr. Rapham gazed, holding his breath. The pale 
emigrant catching a last fond sight of his native shore — the 
shipwrecked mariner who, broken-hearted, sees a distant sail 
fade from sight, his last hope of rescue— could not have 
looked more passionately, more wistfully, than did Mr. 
Rapham now. Every vestige of colour had faded from his 
cheeks. His eyes had the fixed, painful intensity of one 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


whose reason dire calamity has unseated. He was too 
moved, too full of love, longing and despair, to utter a 
moan. 

The picture he gazed on was lovely, yet very sad. 

Rapha, leaning back in her warm furs, appeared all the 
paler, perhaps, for the red roses in her little bonnet. Sad 
she evidently was, and wustful also. At that very moment, 
indeed, she was thinking of her father. Often and often 
she had visited the City with him, and she was thinking 
now of all his generosities, all his affection, longing to be 
able to make him happy, to love him once more as of old. 

The young wife sees not through a maiden’s eyes. Rapha, 
in these opening days of married life, taking in vaguely, 
fondly, and perhaps pensively too, all its possibilities of 
wider sympathies, and new, closer ties, could not recover 
the careless gaiety of her girlhood. Even her husband’s 
frank, manly, unsentimental love, whilst it satisfied her 
aspirations, awakened self-inquiry and remorse. Had she 
acted lightly in thus forsaking affection for love? Ought 
she not to have clung to her father, loved him, shielded 
him, in spite of everything ? 

Such were the thoughts that saddened her occasionally, 
and made her reverie pensive now. Could she only have 
known that her father was by! Could the pair but have 
met then ! But Mr. Rapham stood as if paralyzed, electri- 
fied. 

Drinking in his fill of the sweet vision, he remained at 
the shop-window motionless as a statue. A very heaven 
seemed near — a very hell seemed within his own self then. 
But like one under a spell, possessed by some horrid night- 
mare, he could not reach that fair heaven. Delivery from 
torture was close by, yet might have been leagues ofif. 


THE Vision. 


3IS 


A space of barely two yards separated him from his 
child, but he could not stir. The icy silence of distrust 
and alienation a word might now break, but he could not 
open his lips. 

He felt, he knew that Rapha was secretly longing for 
him, lovingly drawn towards him ; and for all that, he 
seemed unable to help himself — the chance of reconcilia- 
tion went by. 

‘Which ring do you decide upon, sir?’ asked the shop- 
man, now returning with the trayful of wedding-rings. 

But Mr. Rapham appeared stone-deaf. The block in the 
street had broken up; the cab bearing Rapha was lost to 
sight. He, nevertheless, remained gazing out of the window 
fixedly as before. 

‘ The ring, if you please, sir ; I am now at your disposal,* 
repeated the man. 

Still his strange customer stood silent and motionless. 
The obsequious jeweller waited and waited. 

At last, with the air of a man who does not know what 
he is about, leaving his umbrella and muffler on the counter, 
Mr. Rapham rushed out of the shop. 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


3i6 


CHAPTER XI. 

AN ANXIOUS DINNER. 

That evening taxed Laura Carlton’s resources to the utmost 
In spite of apparent girlishness and reckless gaiety, she was 
not without experience in the more intricate of human 
affairs. The great contracting house made it a rule to 
employ only exceptionally clever women, however young, 
and, indeed, the younger the better, according to the notions 
of Allchere and Company. Painful it may be, yet true it is, 
that youth is at a premium in almost every walk of life. 
Youth is the floating capital of humanity. The young are 
ever capitalists, most often, alas, unconsciously ! Such 
qualities as are imparted by years, the widened sympathies, 
the aculeated faculties, the finer feeling of nrature age, are 
not, as a rule, marketable commodities, hx the noisy, jost- 
ling give-and-take of daily existence, wh/.V we r/r.nt is initi- 
ative, dash, absence of self- consciousness, freedom from 
introspection. 

Middle-aged, tried, sensitive women, v/oald have found 
Laura’s present dilemma appalling. The girl, being young, 
careless and self-confident, just took things as they came, 
and made the best of them. She felt more in the position 
of a spectator at a play than a responsible agent in an actual 
drama. 

What Mr. Rapham had done with himself throughout 
the day, he could hardly have explained. Quitting the 
jeweller’s shop, he set out in a mood of vague anguish and 


AN ANXIOUS DINNER, 


317 


despair, to which passion soon gave shape. He would find* 
out the author of all his misfortunes, and punish him as he 
deserved, no matter what might be the consequence to 
himself. 

Frederick Villedieu was still his implacable enemy. 
Villedieu had heaped odium on his head, had prevented 
his second marriage — above all, had robbed him of his 
daughter. 

By turns the sweet vision of Rapha, and the hateful 
memory of Villedieu — alternating heaven and hell — held 
him captive. 

Now he would go to Rapha, clasp her knees, entreat her 
to return to him ; next ’ moment he vowed vengeance upon 
the man who had come between them. It might seem odd, 
yet was surely natural, that he felt no rancour against Silver- 
thorn. The light-hearted, easy-going Professor had not 
peered into the secrets of his past life, and was in nowise 
responsible for the steps that had led Rapha into her pre- 
cipitate marriage. He confessed, too, that Silverthorn was 
about the only person in England he found tolerable. But 
for Villedieu, Silverthorn would not have dreamed of asking 
Rapha to marry him. She might herself have changed her 
mind. Should he go to her ? 

• The temptation was strong, but there came the thought 
of his money and of Rapha’s scruples. She would make 
him tell her how he came by his great fortune ; and when 
she knew all, would refuse to share it with him, would ask 
him to give it up as before. He was not going to be tied 
to the conscience of a girl. He was not going to be fooled 
out of his money. 

The dread of his child’s fond, inquisitorial gaze barred 
the way to her door. He knew where to find her, but he 


3i8 the parting OF THE WAYS. 

could not prevail on himself to set out. Not that he felt 
anything to be called remorse. Conscience slept. It was 
the sense of having incurred Rapha’s reproaches, Rapha’s 
condemnation, that he could not bear. 

The short winter day was fast closing in, and, irritated at 
the fog, the drizzle and the rain, at everything in the world 
just then, he returned home. 

His mood was so fitful, and his thoughts so inconsequent, 
that by the time he had reached Strawton Park he had for- 
gotten all about Villedieu for the moment. Vindictiveness 
and exasperation were now fastened upon another and wholly 
innocent object 

‘Who sent you here?^ he asked roughly of Laura, 
as in a sky-blue dress, airiness, prettiness, and common- 
place piquancy impersonated, she danced into the drawing- 
room. 

The unsuspecting girl stood dumbfounded. She had 
dressed for dinner almost with the coquetry of a maiden 
beautifying herself for the eyes of a bridegroom. After that 
morning’s bluff allusion to the future, and pointed reference 
to her wishes, she never doubted that she was to be the 
wife of the millionaire. Certainly it was not such wedlock 
as she had read of in romances, and would have chosen for 
herself ; but her employer seemed good-natured. He liked 
to please women after his own fashion, and he found her 
society agreeable. She might, in time, be able to sway him 
to her will. 

‘ Who sent you here ?’ he repeated. 

Laura glanced at him, and then the dreadful truth flashed 
upon her. Something had happened so to disturb Mr. 
Rapham’s mind, so to agitate and unhinge him. For the 
moment he was hardly accountable for his words or actions. 


AN ANXIOUS DINNER, 


319 


She quickly recovered self-possession, and answered 
soothingly and caressingly : 

‘ Who sent me here, dear Mr. Rapham ? You wrote to 
your agent for a lady housekeeper and companion. Don’t 
you remember ’ 

‘Don’t believe a word of it,’ he interposed sharply. 

* It’s all a trumped-up story. That scoundrel Villedieu got 
you sent here under false pretences. I’ve my daughter, and 
they want her money. They turned her out of the house 
one day when I was away. Do you know that? It’s a 
black conspiracy, and Villedieu shall hang for it, if my name 
is Ralph Rapham !’ 

‘Of course, under the circumstances, I will return to 
London to-morrow,’ Laura said, still outwardly calm. 

* Messrs. Allchere could not know all this.’ 

‘ The villain !’ Mr. Rapham continued, still dwelling on 
Villedieu ; ‘ he made Rapha — my daughter, I mean — believe 
that I got my money by piracy on the high seas, to induce 
her to leave me. Then this fellow — it is all as plain as day 
— he will get the Government to ferret me out, and half my 
money will go to him as a reward.’ 

‘ Dear Mr. Rapham,’ Laura put in, * I think you must be 
under a misapprehension. Messrs. Allchere could tell you 
all about it. You had better consult them.’ 

Mr. Rapham eyed her with a suspicious air. 

‘ That dress you have on, what business have you with 
it ?’ he asked ; ‘ it belongs to my daughter. I bought it for 
her in Oxford Street, and it cost four pounds.’ 

‘ Oh !’ Laura cried laughingly, still concealing her con- 
sternation, ‘there you are really wrong. Miss Rapham’s 
dress like this is hanging in the wardrobe here. The house- 
maid will tell you so, for she remarked to me how like the 


320 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


two were — cut apparently off the same stuff. Shall I ling 
for her to bring it down ?’ 

‘ Don’t ring for anybody — don’t say anything about the 
dressj’ he said quickly, and in a voice of apprehension. 
‘ These servants, they look like wooden dummies ; but my 
belief is that they are all spies, and that not a thing is said 
or done in this house without their knowledge.’ 

‘ I hardly think it can be so,’ Laura replied. ‘You see, 
you are one of Messrs. Allchere’s best customers. They 
would be sure to send only thoroughly trustworthy servants 
to you.’ 

Dinner was now announced, and the pair sat down to 
table, Laura feigning to eat and drink with her usual appe- 
tite. She was, in reality, not in the least degree alarmed ; 
she saw already that she had power to soothe and subdue 
Mr. Rapham’s strange mind. Youth, for the most part, 
moreover, not unwillingly faces such opportunity of exer- 
cising its own power ; but a natural feeling of consternation, 
disappointment, and pity took possession of her. 

This, then, was the end of her dreams, if, indeed, worldly 
speculation can be so called ! Instead of a wealthy marriage, 
an adventurous career in new societies, excitement, luxury, 
and ease for the rest of her days, she confronted a trying 
dilemma : a brief period of strain and harass, and once more 
an elbowing through the crowded ranks of labour, a plunge 
into the prosaic unknown ! 

Laura Carlton would not perhaps have been worldly, and 
in a certain sense calculating, under more favourable cir- 
cumstances. But the bloom of fine feeling gets rubbed off 
in the hand-to-hand struggle for existence. She could hardly 
commiserate the lot of a disinherited daughter into whose 
golden shoes she was to step. Rapha’s fate had hitherto 


AN ANXIOUS DINNER, 


321 


hardly touched her. Rapha, too, was happily married, and 
her husband could give her comfort, if not elegance. It 
did not seem that she need reluct at the good fortune 
this alienation of father and daughter seemed to put in her 
own way. Mr. Rapham’s millions must go to somebody. 
But now she saw things quite differently. There are certain 
phenomena in daily life that awe the most careless, and 
impart disinterestedness to the egotistical. The calamity 
that had overtaken Mr. Rapham and his daughter was one 
of these. 

Laura was not naturally reverential. Reverence, as truly 
says the great Goethe, is the mental attribute most wanting 
in youth. Here, however, her worldliness, light-mindedness, 
and material views of life, met with a stern rebuke. She 
drew back, staggered at the awful visitation ; so indeed in 
its awfulness does lapse of reason seem to us. For a little 
while the heedless maiden became a questioner, a would-be 
prier into the dread secrets of human destiny, and the life 
beyond the tomb — became, indeed, in the truest sense of 
the word, religious. Pity, too, called for its tribute. Where 
was the fruition of Mr. Rapham’s vast wealth now? To 
whom could it bring joy ? And the alienated daughter, the 
young wife, what would her feelings be when she heard of 
this catastrophe ? Laura’s immediate concern, however, was 
to divert Mr. Rapham’s mind, and the presence of the ser- 
vants helped her not a little. 

Mr. Rapham had a morbid terror of being overheard by 
his domestics. In spite of his wild thoughts and hallucina- 
tions, he still exercised the old reserve, avoiding personalities 
and confidences at the dinner-table. Anxious to escape 
observation, he made a pretence at eating and drinking, and 
sedulously avoided dangerous topics. Once or twice, finding 

21 


322 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


himself on the verge of an indiscretion, he stopped short, 
and abruptly sent the footman out of the room under some 
pretext or other. 

The dinner, nevertheless, proved an ordeal Laura would 
never forget. She stood in no terror of Mr. Rapham ; but 
she could not tell from one moment to another what strange 
impulse might overtake him. Then, too, she had not yet 
wholly recovered from the shock of the situation. She had 
tripped downstairs expecting a lively ttte-h-tHe with a man 
who intended to make her his wife. She found instead gne 
who was but a parody of his former self — a travesty of 
human nature — in his own image, a thing to move to in- 
tensest humiliation and pity. 

‘ These walnuts are not real walnuts,’ he said when dessert 
had been placed on the table. ‘ If you mind what I say, 
you won’t touch them ; they are imitations, poisoned with 
prussic acid.’ 

And he pushed his favourite dessert dish from him. 

‘ Try an apple,’ Laura said cheerfully. ‘ Let me pare you 
one.’ 

‘I won’t eat another morsel. I am sure the cook and 
everybody in the house is in the pay of that man Villedieu,’ 
was the retort. ‘ He is capable of anything.’ 

‘ Mr. Villedieu, you say, has no money. People cannot 
be bribed without money,’ Laura said. ‘ However, we will 
set to work and find out.’ 

‘ I’ll go to the police the first thing in the morning,’ Mr. 
Rapham said. ‘ Of course, it is to your interest to stand up 
for that scoundrel. He is master here ; I am nobody.’ 

And the next moment, with an inconsistency that would 
have been whimsical under other circumstances, his thoughts 
were on another tack. 


THE CRISIS. 


323 


‘ The servants are at supper. Just go down and listen to 
what they are talking about. It is my belief they are con- 
certing together to carry me off somewhere. Mind and 
don’t let them hear you.’ 

Laura obeyed. In fact, throughout the rest of that terrible 
evening she humoured one wild fantasy after another, till at 
last, somewhat soothed and mollified, Mr. Rapham allowed 
himself to be coaxed into going to bed. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE CRISIS. 

Early next morning her trials began afresh. Wakeful, 
uneasy, it was not till long past midnight that she fell asleep, 
to be aroused before daylight by Mr. Rapham’s tap at her 
door. 

‘ Get up this very moment ; dress as quickly as you can. 
I want you to take the first train to London,’ he whispered. 

She threw on a warm dressing-gown and opened the door 
at once. 

‘ Dear Mr. Rapham,’ she entreated, ‘ it is only six o’clock. 
If I wen! to London now, I should find nobody up or 
stirring ; nobody that you want to see, I mean. I promise 
to be down to breakfast punctually at- eight, so as to catch 
the eight forty-five train. Do wait till then, or the servants 
will think something extraordinary is the matter. They are 
so terribly inquisitive.’ 


324 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


By dint of one argument after another, she contrived to 
persuade him. She went back to bed, and- obtained another 
hour of quiet. With the blissful adaptability of youth, she 
was able to snatch a brief but refreshing doze. 

Punctually to the stroke of eight she descended to the 
breakfast-parlour, to find everything ready and Mr. Rapham 
in somewhat calmer mood. He said little, but was evi- 
dently pondering deeply. He ate and drank, too, almost 
with his usual appetite. 

Laura, glancing at him from behind the urn, asked herself 
if indeed the events of the preceding night were not mere 
phantasmagoria, destined ‘to pass away, rather than the first 
act of what threatened to be a terrible tragedy. He had 
dressed with unusual care. He was apparently collected, 
although somewhat sad. He gave orders to- the servants 
with his usual -decision. During the meal he looked like a 
man who feels himself on the verge of some crisis of fate, 
not like one in the clutches of wild delirium. 

‘ Have lunch for three, and order fires to be made in Miss 
Rapham’s rooms,’ he said as he rose from table. 

It was not till they were seated in the brougham and 
being driven rapidly to the station that he explained him- 
self. 

‘ I am going to fetch my daughter,’ he said; ‘married or 
not married, she will come home with her father. You will 
see that. They have schemed to get her out of the country 
— Villedieu and his people, I mean — and, once out of the 
way, they are sure of my money. I’ll never believe Rapha 
is married at all. They only told me so to set me against 
her.’ 

Laura said little. Under the circumstances, the best 
thing that could happen was for father and daughter to come 


THE CRISIS, 


325 


together. Rapha and her husband were the proper persons 
to be about Mr. Rapham in his present state. Rapha would 
be able to soothe and cheer him ; perhaps, indeed, a recon- 
ciliation with her would work his cure. 

She could see that it was this alienation from his child 
that had unhinged his reason ; other events — the burning in 
effigy, the encounter with Villedieu, Lady Letitia’s rebuff — 
were mere accessories : the real cause. of this mental break- 
down was a passionate, boundless craving for the sight of 
Rapha. That he had seen her the day before she gathered 
from stray hints, dropped almost unconsciously; he had 
made no overt allusion to the fact. 

Full of hope, therefore, and with the feeling that already 
a leaden weight of care had slipped from her mind, she 
drove with her uncouth companion to the address indicated. 
The poor girl was now as anxious to quit Strawton Park as 
she had been to reach it a week or two ago. She was 
sc'^eming for the future, wondering what strange experiences 
would next be hers, and whether she should reach some 
sure, comfortable haven at last, in some quarter of the world 
ultimately find a home. 

The sight of the busy streets and glittering shops brought 
a sense of cheerfulness and relief. Her ordeal would soon 
be over. Once Mr. Rapham was consigned to his daughter’s 
keeping, she should be free to leave him. 

Mr. Rapham evinced no les^ impatience to have his e and 
accomplished. From feverish garrulousness his mood had 
changed to taciturnity. He sat pale and speechless, his 
hands trembling, his eyes unnaturally strained, as if seeking 
some object in the far distance. 

‘We must be there ; this is surely the street T was all he 
said from time to time. 


326 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


It seemed to both as if that cab-drive would never come 
to an end. 

At last it was indeed there— the name of the street so 
eagerly looked for — and Mr. Rapham signalled to the cab- 
man to pull up. 

‘ I will wait here/ he said in a low voice. ‘ It won’t do 
for me to be seen, you know. You just ask for Rapha, and 
tell her I am waiting at the corner of the street to take her 
home. Be quick.’ 

All alertness, impatient as himself, Laura alighted and 
walked rapidly towards Silverthorn’s house. As she waited 
on the doorstep, she saw that Mr. Rapham had also quitted 
the cab, and now stood watching her movements. 

‘Mr. and Mrs. Silverthorn live here, I believe? Can I 
speak to Mrs. Silverthorn ?’ she asked of the young maid- 
servant who answered the door. 

The girl’s candid face and prompt reply were a warrant of 
truthfulness. 

‘ They have left town, miss, and will not be back for three 
weeks.’ 

Laura’s heart sank within her. It was her turn to tremble 
and lose colour. 

‘ Can I have their address ?’ she asked in a faint voice. 

‘ The Professor left word that no letters were to be for- 
warded,’ was the reply. ‘ He is taking a holiday. They 
crossed the water last night on their way to Rome.’ 

Laura stood dumbfounded. Glancing in the direction of 
the cab, she saw Mr. Rapham ’s rigid figure, the very per- 
sonification of suspense, and the sight took away the re- 
mainder of her courage. Tears started to her eyes ; she 
looked stricken. Her expression of helplessness and dis- 
may did not escape the careless little London girl. 


THE CRISIS, 


327 


* If you wait a moment, I will call missus,’ she said. ‘ She 
can perhaps give you Mr. Silverthorn’s address in foreign 
parts.’ 

She ran downstairs and fetched the landlady, for Silver- 
thorn and his bride still occupied his old bachelor lodgings. 
She was a pleasant-faced woman. The genial Professor 
ever contrived to have pleasant people about him, and 
Laura could not help unburdening herself. 

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I have come from Mr. Rapham, Mrs. 
Silverthorn’s father. He is very ill — in mind, I mean — and 
craves for a sight of her. This news will make him 
desperate. What shall I do ?’ 

‘Well, miss,’ replied the woman, who was in Rapha’s 
confidence also, ‘ Rome is not very far off when you come 
to railways, and I know Mrs. Silverthorn would come 
straight back for her father’s sake. She is always fretting 
about him. 'The Professor got his holiday on purpose to. 
give her a change. Here is the address in Rome, and you 
had better telegraph at once and ask them to come back.’ 

Laura dared not wait another moment. Already several 
minutes had been spent in parleying. With hurried thanks, 
flushed, tearful, agonized, she hurried back to the rigid 
figure by the cab-door. 

What followed she would remember to her dying day. 
At first he realized the pain of bitterest disappointment only, 
the never-to-be-uttered, cureless woe. He could not weep ; 
tears would have relieved him. He huddled back in the 
corner of the cab, and sobbed the dry, pitiful sobbing of the 
distracted. 

‘Oh,^ he said as he took her hands and kissed them, 
pressed them to his lips, ‘ only give me back my child, and 
you shall have any money you want. Do find her, and bring 


328 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


her back to me. I am sure she is crying to come, only they 
won’t let her. She always cared for her father; they lie 
who say the contrary. “ Dear papa, darling papa,” she used 
to say as she put her arms round my neck, and kissed me 
night and morning. She was always hovering about me 
when I was in the house. It was papa this, papa that, from 
morning till night. I was always good to her. You must 
find her,’ he reiterated, with a moan of helplessness. ‘ I 
shall die if she is not found, my little Rapha !’ 

Then to wild, unreasoning grief succeeded fierce, un- 
reasoning anger. He shook his fists, he threatened, he 
cursed ; nothing Laura could say had power to calm him. 

‘ Don’t you believe that story about Rome,’ he said ; 
‘ she’s not gone to Rome any more than I have. They’ve 
hidden her somewhere, the villains ! I see through it all. 
Now that they have got Rapha away, they want to hunt me 
down and make me give up my money. We are not safe 
in this cab,’ he whispered. ‘ The man, I am sure, is in the 
pay of my enemies, and perhaps a detective in disguise. 
We are spied upon every inch of the road.’ 

‘ We will get back to Strawton, all the same,’ Laura said- 
as cheerfully as she could. ‘ Only we must not speak too 
loudly and attract the attention of the crowd. That is the 
very worst thing to do, you know.’ 

He seemed to see the force of this argument, and leaning 
back in the cab, uttered low-voiced plaints and reproaches 
only, his thoughts ever recurring to Rapha. 

* Why did I not interfere when they were carrying you off 
yesterday ?’ he moaned. ‘ I was close by her — did I not tell 
you ?’ he said, turning to Laura. ‘ I could have circum- 
vented the scoundrels then. The police would have been 
on my side. Was it not my own daughter ? What right 


THE CRISIS, 


329 


had anyone to hide her from her father ? And now it is 
too late — too late. I shall never find her. I shall never 
see you again, my little Rapha !* 

‘ We will think of what is best to do when we get home,’ 
said poor Laura, as they approached the railway-station. 

Only to get this terrible journey over, she thought. Her 
dread was lest they might by chance encounter Mr. Rapham’s 
imaginary foe, Villedieu. To her intense relief, the first 
person she saw on the platform was Mr. Morrow. Mr. 
Rapham liked the courteous, amiable manufacturer, and, of 
course, knew nothing as yet of his engagement to Lady 
Letitia’s daughter. He was in the habit of paying friendly 
visits to Strawton Park, and Laura felt that she might rely 
upon him as a friend. 

‘ There is Mr. Morrow,’ she said to her companion. * He 
is very sensible and very kind. We will get him to travel 
with us.’ 

Mr. Rapham was on his mettle in a moment He re- 
turned the manufacturer’s salutation with his customary and 
old-fashioned politeness. 

‘ Good-day to you, sir,’ he said ; ‘ I hope I see you 
well.’ 

Mr. Morrow had taken his seat in the railway-carriage 
before he imagined anything was wrong. He merely 
thought that his neighbour looked strangely heated, and but 
for his reputation for sobriety, would have accused him of 
excess in drinking. 

‘ Fairly, thank you,’ he replied cheerily. * But the money- 
market— what a state of things there, Mr. Rapham !’ 

The train had now moved off, and the three were 
alone. 

‘ My business in town was not on the Stock Exchange 


330 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


to-day,* Mr. Rapham said; ‘I’ve something else to think 
about. You are a magistrate, Mr. Morrow ; I appeal to you 
And I tell you one thing, if it costs me the last penny in the 
world, I will punish the villains who have carried off my 
daughter.’ 

‘Your daughter, my dear sir — your daughter!’ exclaimed 
Mr. Morrow. 

A significant look from Laura and Mr. Rapham’s reply 
revealed to him the true state of affairs. 

* You may well look astounded,’ Mr. Rapham went on, 
growing more and more excited. ‘But, you see, they 
couldn’t get hold of my money unless they first hid away 
my daughter. That is why they have done it. What 
business is it of anybody’s how I came by my money ? I 
am not going to say. I will lose my tongue first. But 
they’ve carried off Rapha ; I shall never see her again — 
never, never 1’ 

And thus he made moan all the way. 


FROM FLOWERY VALLEY TO ICE-BOUND REGION. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

FROM FLOWERY VALLEY TO ICE-BOUND REGION. 

The pair of happy travellers never reached Rome after all. 
As little flower-gatherers entering a wood in search of the 
lily of the valley are tempted hither and thither by the wood- 
sorrel and the primrose, so these two found a dozen places 
on the way far too enticing to be passed by. 

When the second holiday-week was broken into, they 
decided to leave Rome till they had a month, a year, or a 
life-time, as Silverthorn said, to devote to it, and obtain a 
, glimpse of Venice instead. 

‘ What do we want with letters ?’ he added. ‘ It is the 
greatest possible mistake ever to have letters sent after you 
on a holiday trip. The very first you open is sure to contain 
ill-starred news; or, at the very least, something to ruffle 
you — thus the Fates will it. Whatever is happening at 
home is most likely quite out of your power to alter, either 
for the better or the worse. Let us then leave letters till the 
very last thing, regarding them as children do pills and 
powders, to do away with the effects of over-indulgence at 
Christmas.’ 

The letters awaiting them at Rome were to be forwarded 
to Innsbruck, the last halting-place on their travels. 

At first, as was only natural, Rapha seemed to leave her 
sorrows behind her. She was not wholly untravelled ; but 
how different that journey of a few months back to the 


332 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


trip with Silverthorn ! Then she had been shy and ill 
at ease with her newly found father— the future, however 
bright, had a dark cloud of uncertainty hanging over it. 
Now, in one respect at least, all riddles had been solved, 
all doubts set at rest. Her maiden dreams were over, 
and marriage had so far more than compensated for their 
loss. 

This journey, to her ever-busy Professor, was in reality a 
post-dated honeymoon. Scant leisure had been his, as yet, 
for the proper enjoyment of his young wife’s society. 

Under the circumstances, Rapha must have been more 
than woman, and endowed with transhuman sensitiveness, 
to feel unhappy. She thought of her father— sorrowing for 
his loneliness, yearning to love and comfort him ; but for 
the most part, her sun-bright day belonged to her husband. 
Each new experience, each fresh enchantment, seemed of 
his providing. His individuality for the moment absorbed 
her own. 

There was little, perhaps, that could be called romance 
about such a love-story as theirs. The thunder-clouds of 
passion, the lightning-flashes of scorn that threatened to 
shatter the happiness of Villedieu and Norrice, were hardly 
likely to disturb the peace of these two. 

Love was rather like the fair, calm promise of an English 
spring ; tender green, as of a veil, covers the earth ; the larks 
carol in the pure, pearly heavens ; homely flowers bid us 
welcome here and there. We know what May in our dear 
native land is like, and we know what affection is like in 
such natures. Nevertheless, the beginnings of the life of 
one merged into the life of two is ever tinged with romance 
of a certain kind. 

The sturdy Silverthorn, the artless Rapha, had moments 


FROM FLOWERY VALLEY TO ICE-BOUND REGION, 333 

as exquisite and as egotistical as those impassioned, fiery 
natured lovers. There were times when slife would feel 
ashamed of being so happy, and would blush at the person- 
ality and exclusiveness of their happiness. She never 
dreamed — how should she ? — that in the natural order of 
things this concentrated devotion must come to an end. For 
marriage, above all to the maiden, if at first a microscope 
enlarging and exaggerating the individual, magnifying the 
tiny microcosm of self, may later on rather be compared to 
a telescope, not only making clear views of life hardly visible 
before, but bringing within focus many hitherto entirely 
hidden from view, and showing the relation of one to 
another. 

Viewed thus, if marriage, according to the great Goethe, 
must ofttimes prove the grave of a woman’s genius, it must, 
nevertheless, be set down as necessary to the development 
of character from some points of view. It is, perhaps, in 
the best interests of society that the one half of woman 
should remain celibate, the other devoting itself to family 
life; there being no greater error than to suppose either 
that maternity alone can raise a woman to the loftiest moral 
ideal, or that the natural longing of every feminine heart is 
fvjr ‘ that sweet, safe corner behind the heads of children ’ 
our great poetess speaks of. Women, no less than men, are 
ambitious, and ambition is far-reaching. Immortality is not 
conferred by the fact of having given birth to a baby. But 
the name of her to whom we are indebted for ‘Auld Robin 
Grey ’ will live as long as our language. 

The happy travellers were now speeding from Verona to 
Innsbruck by the Brenner Pass, that magic ladder planted 
on the flowery floor of spring, its topmost rung in the regions 
of perpetual snow. 


334 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


Spring had burst early upon that sheltered valley at the 
foot of the Austrian Alps. 

They gazed with rapture upon the pastures, velvety 
smooth, bright as emerald ; the abundance of field-flowers ; 
the children sporting in cottage gardens. The warm, sunny 
atmosphere and bright skies seemed to herald the approach 
of summer. 

Very soon all was changed. As the train slowly climbed 
the fearful ascent, flowers and sunshine vanished, an icy wind 
swayed the pine-branches, snow fell heavily, and the distant 
landscape was mantled in dazzling white. 

Rapha shivered, and drew her warm travelling - cloak 
round her. The transformation was so sudden, so unex- 
pected, that she felt alarmed. 

‘Never fear!’ laughed Silverthorn. ‘The snowstorm is 
nothing ; and we shall go down as gently and smoothly as 
we have come up. At Innsbruck it will be warmer, too.’ 

But Rapha could not at first shake off an eerie feeling. 
She wished that the snowstorm, the leaden clouds, and 
groaning pines had come first, and the gold, green, smiling, 
flowery valley on their tracks. 

Like all holiday-makers who have been too happy, she 
dreaded the breaking of the spell. Warm sunshine had 
been their portion of late, in their hearts and about their 
path. Now, not only Italy was left behind, but the sun 
itself. 

‘ At Innsbruck we shall find letters,’ she said, her thoughts 
recurring to her father. 

‘Unfortunately!’ again laughed Silverthorn. ‘Although, 
why should we dread letters now? They cannot undo a 
certain little ceremony that ook place just two months 

ago-’ 


FROM FLOWERY VALLEY TO ICE-BOUND REGION, 335 

Rapha made no reply. Yes, it seemed to her, too, 
that she had all to hope, nothing to dread. Time might 
soften her father’s heart — it could hardly estrange them 
more. 

‘We will try to be reconciled with papa,’ she said, looking 
at her husband wistfully. 

‘ I will do anything you wish, except put myself in the 
way of being kicked downstairs by my father-in-law,’ was his 
reply. 

Rapha thanked him with a smile, and, leaning back in 
the carriage, fell into a reverie. • 

Two months of married life had taught the sweet young 
wife many things, and altered the nature of her day- 
dreams. 

As she looked far into the future, she fancied she now 
discerned the rainbow of peace, the arc of covenant. 

What if this happy life of two became the life of three ! 
What if Heaven blessed her with the dower of motherhood ! 
Would not her father be won over to forget and forgive, 
then? He might blame her; and Silverthorn, perhaps, 
had not involuntarily incurred his displeasure. But were 
an innocent child born to them that should be the child of 
his children ! Surely he must yield to such sweet advocacy. 
A little being, born under those circumstances, must in- 
evitably prove a messenger of concord. 

She smiled to herself, blushed, even shed happy tears at 
the very thought; and as she dreamed thus, the wintry 
landscape lost its portent — spring once more took possession 
of her heart. 

‘ There are two telegrams for you,’ Silverthorn said, with 
affected carelessness. ‘ Let me open them.’ 

Rapha, already trembling with eagerness and apprehen- 


336 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


sion, waited whilst he broke the seals. The two missives, 
whilst bearing different dates, were worded precisely the 
same, and ran thus ; 

‘ From I ‘ 7> 

‘Merton Morrow, ‘Mrs. Silverthorn, 

‘ Strawton. | ‘ Rome. 

‘ Pray return at once. Your father is ill, and perpetually asks for 
you.* 

* These telegrams are a fortnight old ; they must have 
been despatched soon after our start,* Silverthorn said rue- 
fully. ‘ But don*t break your heart, darling ; I will go at 
once to the office, and telegraph that we are on our way 
home post-haste.* 

Rapha could not utter a word. She sat speechless and 
tearless, staggered by the blow. The worst news she had 
dreaded was that of her father’s marriage. But the calamity 
of illness had never so much as crossed her mind. And he 
was longing for her; his rancour, then, had passed away. 
What if she should reach home too late ! 

* See,* Silverthorn said cheerfully, as he sorted their letters, 
‘ here is something more for you, from Mr. Morrow. Let 
me read it aloud.* 

The kindly manufacturer had written so guardedly as to 
present the truth under a hopeful aspect. Mr. Rapham’s 
condition, both mental and bodily, was serious ; at the same 
time, much was in his favour, and ultimate recovery might 
be looked for. Whether Rapha’s return would do good or 
harm, no one could say ; but, seeing her father’s eagerness, 
he begged her to hasten home. Meanwhile, she need be 
under no apprehension on one score. Mr. Rapham was at 
Strawton Park, and well cared for. 

‘ Come, little wife,* Silverthorn said, trying to rouse Rapha 


FROM FLOWERY VALLEY TO ICE-BOUND REGION. 337 

from her apathy, * take heart j we must bear our burdens of 
sorrow as well as the rest. Life cannot be all holiday- 
making at Posilippo 1 We will get your father well — will do 
our best, anyhow.’ 

‘ Had we only gone to Rome !’ Rapha said, with such a 
look of anguish that Silverthorn had not the heart to 
administer the reproof he kept for another time. • 

‘ Had we only gone to Rome !’ he merely exclaimed 
smiling. ‘Were we but omniscient, superhumanly fore- 
seeing, gifted with an insight into futurity, which, if we 
really possessed, would make life a game of chess, cunningly 
played ! No, let us fold our hands, and wish all day long 
if you like, from morning till night, from the time we wear 
pinafores till we are bald and gray, but not that we could 
see yesterday’s morn, not that we omitted one thing or did 
another foolishly, as events afterwards proved. We are but 
mortals, unable to see through brick walls, much less to 
foretell the events of to-morrow. So leave off crying, and 
let us comfort ourselves with the thought that we could 
no more predict your father’s illness than — fortunately 
for ourselves — we can foresee how long we shall both 

live ’ he added as he bent down and kissed her tear- 

wet cheek, ‘ or how many times we shall scold each 
other !’ 

That brusque, cheery speech had one good effect. It 
made Rapha first smile, then weep j and tears proved her 
best comforter. She tried to be calm and hopeful. 

Silverthorn was right. Had he only gone to Rome, had 
we only done this, had we only omitted to do that ! surely 
the saddest, most pathetic utterances framed by human lips ! 
The most ironic, too, since hardly a week, a day, passes 
but we forget the self-administered reproof, and take pre- 

22 


338 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


cisely the same course for which we have already castigated 
ourselves. 

Could Time run back and place before us the very same 
choice, the identical opportunity once so fatally misused, 
should we not by virtue of character, temperament and im- 
pressionableness misuse them as before ? 

There is a fine moral in that introspective * Had I but 
done this, had I omitted to do that !’ all the same. As the 
withered leaves and petals of a plant enrich the soil at the 
root, assuring fairer. flower-harvests to come, so is it with the 
shattered hopes, the wasted energies, and unfulfilled pur- 
poses of the past. We are strengthened, perhaps beautified, 
by our buried selves ; the noble life is the flower made 
perfect after much care and evil seasons. But, indeed, for 
that wistful lament, ‘ Had I only done this where would be 
the irony of human destiny ? 

As fast as trains could speed and tides would serve, the 
two anxious travellers continued their journey. Yet how 
long seemed the way to Rapha, how interminable the stoj)- 
pages, how snail-like the pace ! 

Hitherto, she could never travel slowly enough. She pre- 
ferred trains that halted at every station, as much sea as 
could be got, and frequent intervals of rest. But every 
moment had its preciousness now. The foreign scenes 
and glimpses of new landscape were as completely lost 
upon her as if she had been blind. She could not read, and 
from time to time would glance furtively at her watch. 

At last, towards evening,, they reached the port ; if all 
went well, they should be at Strawton next morning. 

The night was pitch-dark, and a fearful gale was blowing ; 
but when did any British tourist delay his journey for an 
hour from fear of drowning? The business that calls him 


FROM FLOWERY VALLEY TO ICE-BOUND REGION. 339 

home may not be urgent ; wholly indifferent to wind and 
weather, he embarks as coolly as if taking a penny boat 
across the Thames. 

On such a night as this, it might certainly have seemed 
more prudent to sleep ashore. Such storms do not occur 
more than once or twice during the winter season, and are 
quickly over. But the handful of travellers waiting to be 
conveyed from Ostend to Dover were no more inclined to 
loiter than if their errand, like Rapha’s, had been of life 
and death. One and all allowed themselves literally to be 
blown oh board ; no other word can describe the wind which 
tossed them about like so many shuttlecocks and trumpeted 
like the roar of artillery. When the dreadful journey had 
begun, too, the homely heroism displayed below was really 
a spectacle for foreigners to admire. Those disabled lands- 
folk, so indifferent to bodily suffering and danger, showed 
the sturdy qualities which make us what we are as a nation. 

The long, long purgatory did at last come to an end. 
After tossing about for double the allotted time upon awful 
seas and amid the darkness as of some terrible eclipse, the 
gallant little Ostend boat reached the shore. Thep followed 
the swift railway journey to London in the early hours of 
mist and fog, the swifter journey, still under a depressing 
leaden sky, and Strawton was reached. 

Rapha had borne up bravely till now, but when they were 
fairly driving in the direction of Strawton Park she broke 
down utterly. It seemed too good to be true. They were 
home at last. In a few minutes she should be by her father’s 
bed-side, clasping his hand, soothing him with words of love 
and kindness. In vain Silverthorn tried to check this over- 
hopeful mood, and put before her the possibilities of change 
for the worse, of quite unexpected contingencies. 

22 — 2 


340 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


‘ We cannot be quite sure how we may find your father,* 
he urged ; remember, his illness is not of the body only.’ 

She persisted, however, in believing that her worst sorrows 
were over. 

They had nearly reached the lodge gate, when they sud- 
denly came upon Mr. Morrow. 

‘ I was on the look-out for you,’ he said ; ‘ I thought you 
must be back sometime to-day.’ 

‘Papa?’ was all Rapha could say, her knees trembling 
under her. 

Mr. Morrow glanced from one to the other with a perturbed 
face. 

‘ My dear young lady,’ he at last stammered forth, ‘ some- 
thing quite unexpected has happened. We hope it is a mere 
whim, and that no serious harm will come of it ; but your 
father has disappeared ; he contrived to elude observation 
during last night’s storm, and we have not as yet so much as 
inkling of his movements.’ 

Then the pair did their best to cheer and comfort her. 


FLEEING FROM— WHAT f 


341 


CHAPTER XIV. 

FLEEING FROM — WHAT? 

At first the image of Rapha had pierced the dark cloud 
hanging over Mr. Rapham’s mind like a golden sunbeam. 

As glimpses of flowers and birds to close-shut prisoners, 
hopes of recovery to the sick, visions of green fields tc 
toilers underground, came thoughts of her to his dark, 
passion-tossed soul. In a dim, undefined way, the sweet 
presence of his child was to set everything right. The sight 
of her face, the sound of her voice, were to prove the talis- 
mans charming away evil. Rapha, and Rapha only, could 
extricate him from the toils in which he was now caught. 
His passionate craving for her, abnormal from the first, 
reached the height of wild exultation, alternating with the 
frenzy of despair. 

Now Rapha was near, now his only earthly hope was ful- 
filled, and his darling was at hand, to be clasped the next 
moment to his breast; and now unseen enemies had hidden 
her for ever from his sight ; he might spend every penny he 
possessed and yet be unable to trace her hiding-place. 
Alike in moments of joyous assurance and torturing sus- 
pense, Rapha’s name was continually on his lips, her form 
hovered before his eye. He would carry about with him 
little things she had used or worn — a glove, a purse, a 
ribbon, and kiss them fervently, as Catholics their relics. 

But when he understood that she was really found, and 


342 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


on her way home, a wholly new mood took possession of 
him. The seraphic figure that had seemed to beckon from 
the gates of Paradise was suddenly changed to that of an 
avenging angel armed with flame and sword. From the 
moment he realized the fact that she would soon be back, 
his unreason took this phase. He became as anxious to 
hide himself from her as he had before been for the 
meeting. 

Was it that the awakenings of conscience, denied to him 
when, he had been master of himself, became apparent now? 
Did the secret monitor, silent hitherto, make its voice heard 
amid the tumult and disorder in which he was now plunged? 

Mr. Rapham had never shown the least self-questioning 
or remorse when alluding- to his past career. There could be 
little doubt that certain passages of that career were dark and 
shameful enough ; but as far as conscience was concerned, 
the past did not trouble him. He seemed anxious for the 
good opinion of the world, above all desirous not to shock 
Rapha ; any balancing of good and evil in his own mind was 
quite another thing. 

At last conscience had vicariously proclaimed itself. In 
endeavouring to hide himself from his child, he was in 
reality trying to escape the stings of remorse. Thus the 
impulses of a mind unhinged seemed about to atone for the 
calm deliberate judgment of former days. In his incoherent 
mood he had become more human, more manly. 

He kept what was working within to himself; and as 
Rapha’s return approached, manifested a collectedness that 
might well have disarmed keener watchers. He gave orders 
for her reception as if nothing were amiss, ate and drank 
almost as usual, and even affected pleasure at the prospect 
of the meeting. Those about him, his physician, attendants, 


FLEEING FROM— WHAT t 


343 


and Laura, were quite thrown off their guard, and imagined 
that the sight of his daughter was indeed to work the cure. 

The checkmated bride-elect was still at Strawton Park, 
and perhaps more useful in ministering to the patient than 
anyone. She could be diverting without effort — as the 
young and careless only can — and her position, being irre- 
sponsible, was not felt to be very arduous. To play at 
dominoes, and otherwise humour the vagaries of an invalid, 
"was better anyhow than having one’s ankles kicked black 
and blue by little Greek boys. She was very well paid, and 
was already forming plans for a settlement with bosom 
friends in some state as yet not redundantly supplied with 
women. 

All day long the storm had been raging at Strawton — 
such a storm as had not visited those parts for years. 
Veteran trees were uprooted, falling tiles made it dangerous 
to be abroad, whilst by spurts and gusts came down torrents 
of rain, inundating the lowlands. So furious the wind, 
rather the winds — for the four quarters of heaven furnished 
their contingent — that stout citizens, well buttoned in their 
broadcloth, had as much ado to make headway as seamen 
on a tossing deck ; whilst, as if the storm, like human pas- 
sions, had its sportive mood also, in every direction went 
flying hats, handkerchiefs, newspapers, and any other objects 
that came in its way. These laughable incidents diverted 
people’s minds from the more awesome aspect of such a 
phenomenon. 

Towards nightfall the climax came. It was as if the 
combined hosts of heaven were by common consent to be 
arrayed against the earth, one last cataclysmal onslaught of 
winds and waters to subdue the passive forces below. 

It was then that Mr. Rapham achieved his flight. In 


344 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


such an hour, when the very storm-fiends seemed let loose 
— the hurricane a destroying power gifted with intelligence ; 
the winds, so many afrits, gnomes, evil geniuses, each 
having some separate vengeance to wreak upon the doomed 
world — who would have time to think of him? Truth to 
tell, the household had other matters on hand. The un- 
slating of the roof by the cyclone could not be repaired 
whilst the storm lasted, and the rain was already forcing its 
way here and there. Mr. Rapham had retired with such 
obvious intention to go to bed, that no anxiety was felt 
about him. Lived the madman who would brave such a 
night ? 

Mr. Rapham, on the contrary, welcomed the foul weather, 
exulting in the thought that he was thereby veiled from ob- 
servation. As evening drew on, a secret joy took possession 
of him. Rapha, they said, could not be back before the 
morning. The storm and the darkness would enable him 
to hide himself from her for ever. 

All longing, all passionate love, all images of tenderness, 
were now banished from his breast His child was his child 
still, beautiful, lovable, endearing ; but she could have no 
love for her father ; the sight of him could only fill her mind 
with abhorrence. She had quitted him for very loathing. 
Away, then, into the pitchy blackness of the night, into the 
turmoil of the tempest ; away to silence, to dark oblivion. 

Ever and anon these desperate thoughts were relieved by 
the sweet vision of yesterday. He saw Rapha’s candid 
brow and caressing smile through the mist of storm-cloud 
and blinding rain ; above the shrill blasts and fierce beats 
of the wind he heard her clear voice calling his name. But 
from both sight and sound he fled now as if a very spirit of 
darkness dogged his footsteps ; covering his eyes and stopping 


FLEEING FROM— WHAT t 


345 


his ears, he sought ever a securer hiding-place in the storm. 
The night was indeed Tippalling, and bristling with dangers 
even to the weariest wayfarer. 

In Strawton Park already many a noble tree had been 
maimed and crippled by the hurricane, and the battle was 
still raging. Like human things whose mishaps find vocal 
utterance, ever and anon came the crash of some bough 
torn from parent stem; or athwart the brushwood, some 
aged trunk, after futile struggling with its Toe, would at last 
be laid low. 

Beyond the precincts of the park was equal peril. The 
rain had swelled every stream to a river, and every dyke to 
the dimensions of a pond. Unprovided with a lantern, no 
traveller could here set his foot in safety. To plunge into 
these flooded lowlands was almost as audacious as to walk 
straight towards the coming tide. 

But Mr. Rapham blindly staggered on. Every now and 
then he stopped and held his breath, as some runaway who 
gains scent of his pursuers. 

‘ Papa, papa, it is I — Rapha !* he seemed to hear above 
the din of the hurricane. 

The fancy made him dash forward more impetuously than 
before. Only to shut out that vision, drown that voice, was 
his craving as he unflinchingly confronted blast and rain. 
What harm could these do him now ? He only wanted to 
hide himself. 

And as he fled thus from images called forth by a dis- 
torted fancy, something like a prayer rose to his lips. 

For the first time in his life a Name was invoked in awe 
instead of blasphemy. 

‘Thou great God,’ he cried, * save me, hide me 

From what? The prayer remained inchoate and frag- 


346 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


mentary. And it was answered in Heaven’s inscrutable 
way. His agony of terror had reached the acme, when he 
was struck on the temple by a shattered branch. Merciful 
oblivion wrapt him round about as sound slumber. He fell 
stricken in the midst of a hurly-burly which had been to 
him a mere plaything compared to the warfare and turmoil 
within his own breast. 

At last the vision of his absent child troubled him no 
longer. The beatific as well as the retributive eidolon 
ceased to hafmt him. He lay there, perhaps as pitiable a 
human thing as any at the mercy of the storm, self-sought 
death seeming imminent • 


AN IDEA IN SEARCH OF A PURCHASER, 


347 


CHAPTER XV. 

AN IDEA IN SEARCH OF A PURCHASER. 

When Mrs. Bee had thrust her twenty sovereigns into 
Norrice’s palm, she did not say how she had come by them, 
and the inventress at first was too overjoyed to ask. 

Let not Norrice be accused of undue egotism. A dis- 
coverer, a creator, an artist, no matter his sphere, is bound 
to be an egotist. It is by virtue, indeed, of oblivion of self 
and others that the world’s beautifiers attain their end. 

A certain lofty-minded, exalted selfishness is necessary - 
to all who have great work to do ; but only in natures gifted 
with this power and the insight to recognise it is such for- 
getfulness of everyday claims excusable. 

No sooner had Norrice thought out the improvements 
necessary to her ironing-machine, disposing of the twenty 
pounds to the last farthing, than she was ovef®ome with 
remorse. How could she have accepted her mother’s 
money ? Above all, what sacrifices lay at the bottom of 
the mystery ? Mystery it certainly was. Mrs. Bee’s 
twenty pounds seemed much more miraculous than her 
dinners out of nothing. 

Her sudden elation of spirits vanished, she closed her 
workshop somewhat sadly, and joined her mother in the 
little parlour. 

‘ Mammy dear,’ she said, affecting an indifferent air, * of 
course if this new invention of mine turns out well you shall 
have ease and plenty for the rest of your days ; but do tell 


348 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


me— how did you contrive to get twenty pounds just 
now ?’ 

‘What does it matter, so long as you have got the 
money ?’ Mrs. Bee said pettishly, as she prepared the tea. 

* And you know, Norrice, there is nothing I object to so 
much as being pried into and cross-questioned.^ 

Norrice was determined to humour this captious mood, 
feeling sure she should worm out the truth by degrees. 
She let the subject drop for the moment, and, cosily settling 
herself in an easy-chair, sighed a little sigh of content- 
ment. 

‘How happy newly made wives are who have an old 
home and a mother to come to,* she said with a look of 
positive exhilaration. ‘ Yes, mother, it is worth while getting 
married, even if your husband be the greatest villain going, 
for the sake of a treat like this ! — tea, as in the old days, 
alone with you. That dear old battered teapot! When. 
Fred and I move into the big house in Park Lane I told 
you of, and eat off silver on weekdays and gold on Sundays, 

I shall love nothing so well as your old teapot ; and your 
bread-and-butter and watercress — a dinner at Windsor 
Castle would not be half such a feast to me.* 

‘What a child you are!’ Mrs. Bee laughed. ‘But all 
newly married women feel the same; and the more their 
husbands love them, the better pleased they are to get away, 
just for a time, of course. One can’t eat strawberry jam all 
day long.* 

‘Bread-and-butter and watercresses are much better,* 
Norrice said. ‘Well, mother, the election is to take place 
this day week. If I sell my ironing-machine and Fred wins 
his seat, what enviable beings we shall be !* 

‘Now, Norrice, as if two such strokes of good luck were 


AN IDEA IN SEARCH OF A PURCHASER, 


349 


likely to happen at once ! But, before I forget it, do tell 
me where you put the slates and pencils you used for your 
algebra class ; I can’t find them anywhere.’ 

‘ Do you mean to set up as a professor?’ Norrice jested. 

‘ I am sure if you could teach young housewives how to 
live upon nothing, you would prove a benefactress to society, 
and a bond of union to thousands of newly married 
couples.’ 

* There are some things I can teach, I dare say, as 
well as my betters,’ Mrs. Bee replied, with a contemptuous 
toss of the head. ‘But where are the slates? Do be 
serious/ 

‘ On the top of my wardrobe, I believe. Are you going 
to set up an infant school, by way of amusement?’ 
Norrice asked, as she helped herself to more bread-and- 
butter. 

‘ Not that, exactly ; but I want something to do now 
that I have not you to look after ; and many of the smaller 
tradesmen here, I am sure, would rather send their children 
to me than to the Board Schools. Music, too ! I wish 
before you go you would look up all your old school music. 
I can teach children the rudiments as well as a pupil of the 
Royal Academy. Then French, again; I once translated 
“ Telemachus ” right through. Have we an old French 
grammar and exercise-book anywhere ? I mean to set to 
work at once. Six pupils at ten shillings a quarter would be 
three pounds ; twelve would be six pounds. I could make 
enough to live upon.’ 

Bread-and-butter and watercresses on a sudden seemed 
to lose their charm. Norrice grew pensive and thoughtful. 
She began at last to see through the mystery. Her mother 
had mortgaged her half-year’s annuity I 


350 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


She veiled her suspicions, and entered into the proposa 
with affected heartiness. 

‘ I will send you something more modern in the way of 
books,’ she said. ‘It is the school-book nowadays that 
makes the teacher. Educationalists need take no more 
trouble than hurdy-gurdy grinders, provided they have the 
last thing in the shape of an instrument. And I might 
come and take the higher branches ! On my word, mammy 
dear, your notion is capital !’ 

The pair parted cheerfully; but the next, day and the 
next, Norrice returned to Strawton to apply herself more 
sedulously than ever to her invention. Success now meant 
much more than the payment of a debt to her husband ; it 
meant her mother’s daily bread. 

Villedieu, who, although kept in the dark, divined the 
secret of these long visits to Strawton, railed at her for 
her assiduity. 

‘You are a veritable tempter of the gods,’ he would say 
sarcastically. ‘ Did not Fortune once drop a crown of gold 
upon your head, to be tossed off as if worth nothing the 
next moment? Instead of invoking success, you should 
try to propitiate the avenging Fates, and expect at least one 
dire calamity.’ 

‘Is it not calamity enough to be married under false 
pretences ?’ she retorted. 

Do what they would, these two could not help wounding 
each other. 

All this time, when it. seemed as if they were getting 
farther and farther apart, she could not help admiring her 
husband’s conduct. His manful, if at times reckless, battling 
with evil fortune ; the alacrity with which he threw himself 
heart and soul into good causes, rather taking them upon 


AN IDEA IN SEARCH OF A PURCHASER, 


351 


trust than feeling inwardly moved to play the part of re- 
former ; the indifference with which he bore what were 
serious privations to one in his position — all these phases of 
character came out strongly under adverse fortune, and 
made him appear perhaps better than he was. 

Norrice hardly knew whether to be more sorry for herself 
or for him. All counterfeit of tenderness had long been 
laid aside, the numerous little observances that softened 
daily life neglected. 

They were husband and wife, linked together in social 
partnership, brought into closest contact by ties that could 
not be annulled. The discord, the jarring note, made itself 
perceptible in spite of self-control on both sides. 

That last speech of hers, instead of being taken playfully, 
called forth a stinging reply. He could not occasionally help 
these bitter speeches, and he said to himself that she was the 
more in fault of the two. 

‘ The important fact,* he said, * is to be married at all — 
like Henri Quatre, to have taken the perilous leap ! Could 
the combined wisdom of the philosophers, could voyages 
round the world and up to the moon, could other experi- 
ences, supposing we lived to be a hundred, teach us what we 
have already learned together ?* 

She looked at him with an expression of painful inquiry, 
and he added lightly, as if bound to treat the matter like a 
joke : 

* I mean, how hard — how impossible — it is for two human 
beings, even the best intentioned in the world, to Understand 
each other ! Did ever any two ? Not all that has ever been 
written by the wise, from .^Esop down to Herbert Spencer, 
could make me believe it.* 

Such bitterness did not often come to the surface. Both 


352 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


studiously avoided anything like recrimination, much less 
disagreement, and circumstances favoured them just now. 

Norrice was hardly more absorbed in her own invention 
than in her husband’s political campaign. She was, indeed, 
using up her energies too fast — to use a homely phrase, 
intellectually burning the candle at both ends. She said to 
herself that soon the double strain would be over, and that 
life might afterwards offer too much tameness. Time enough 
then to take repose. 

Meanwhile, it really seemed as if her words would come 
true, and that both her own efforts and Villedieu’s would be 
crowned with victory. His return for Strawton was now 
looked upon by competent judges as a certainty ; and she 
had, as she believed, brought her ironing- machine to perfec- 
tion, and was busy upon her blue-book. Its price, so she 
fondly hoped, was to be her joy-gift to Villedieu on his 
election. If this money could not bring back the old love 
and the old confidence, it would, at least, make life easier 
and clearer for both ; a weight of enormous obligation would 
be lifted from her mind. 

Her specification drawn up, and the preliminary patent 
assured, she set out in search of a purchaser ; and purchasers 
are not wanting when an idea finds its way into the market. 
The difficulty is to find out whether an idea is what it pre- 
tends to be, or a bit of commonplaceness in disguise : a mere 
travesty, after the mock philosophers of old, obtaining fol- 
lowers and fame on the strength of their long beards and 
tattered garments. 

But if difficult for the capitalist to find his idea, it is 
equally difficult for the idea to find its especial capitalist. 
The marketable value of Norrice’s first discovery was by 
this time noised abroad, and she found easy access to one 


AN IDEA IN SEARCH OF A PURCHASER. 


353 


speculator after another. Their faces fell from fair weather 
to zero, however, when she announced the fact that her 
invention was neither a projectile capable of destroying, say, 
all London at a blow, nor an easy method of holding inter- 
course with the planet Jupiter. They had looked for some- 
thing marvellous from a lady already so well known, and, 
forsooth, this fine talk was about nothing, or next to nothing 
— a mere substitute any fool might have thought of, for 
woman’s labour in the laundry. It might be a time-saving, 
money-saving, health-saving invention certainly, but it was 
not ‘ likely to draw.’ 

* We must have something to draw, you see, madam,* said 
the mouthpiece of Messrs. Puff and Company, an enter- 
prising young firm to whom she had been recommended, 
‘ we must have something workable in the hands of a com- 
pany.* 

‘ Then you do not yourselves buy patents ?’ asked Norrice, 
glancing from her interlocutor to his three partners. They 
were all young, pleasant, well-dressed, prosperous-looking 
gentlemen, who evidently found the business of farming 
companies a lucrative concern. Mr. Puff looked at her with 
ill- concealed superciliousness. 

‘ We never put our hands into our own pockets when we 
can get other people to go to theirs,* was the reply. ‘ We 
first cast about for something good, then give the public 
the opportunity of taking advantage of it That is the 
system we follow.’ 

An admirable system, too, Mr. Puff seemed to think ; he 
went on in the same cheerful, friendly manner : 

‘ Not that we are unwilling to see what can be done with 
your invention, if you see fit to entrust it to us. We will 
invite our clients to an inspection, and hear what they say, 

33 


354 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


If they seem disposed to come forward, we will put the 
concern before the public and work a company for you.’ 

It was a curious picture, and one highly illustrative of 
nineteenth-century civilization; this young, ardent, handsome 
woman in conclave with the other sex, men hardly older 
than herself, who, whilst respectful in the extreme, paid no 
more deference to her as a woman than if she had been 
the oldest, ugliest, most graceless of feminine granddames. 
Homage enough they were ready to pay of a wholly different 
kind. Had she come to them with something more extra- 
ordinary in the way of an invention, something to magnetize 
other people’s money towards their own pockets, they would 
have accorded warm admiration. Who shall declare which 
is the worthier praise, that called forth by bright eyes and 
witching smiles, or by sheer intellect and spirit ? 

Having failed to awaken enthusiasm in these too ambitious 
breasts, Norrice bethought herself of a hard-headed Strawton 
manufacturer. Old-fashioned in his theories, not at all ex- 
pecting miracles, as did the younger men she had just 
quitted, by no means a millionaire, yet the builder-up of 
his own solid fortunes, Mr. Joshua Smith, of the firm of 
Smith, Smith and Co., wholesale ironmongers and implement 
makers, might realize the practical utility of her invention. 
He had already, so at least report said, realized large sums 
of money by more than one novelty. So to Mr. Joshua 
Smith she went. A little prim, withered man, not better 
furnished with flesh and muscle than Mr. Rapham himself, 
precise in speech, dry in manner, unsympathetic in look as 
a barber’s block, still wearing the swallow-tailed coat of 
thirty years ago, Mr. Smith yet received with the utmost 
courtesy a young lady who came to him about an invention ; 
further proof, if any were needed, of the revolution taking 


AN IDEA IN SEARCH OF A PURCHASER. 355 

place in the relation of the sexes. Having listened coldly, 
taking apparently the faintest interest in her recital, he 
said : 

‘Well, ma’am, time is money, as you know, and twenty 
people come to me in a week with inventions not worth a 
groat However, as there are always as good fish in the 
sea as ever came out, and your machine is handy, shall we 
appoint the day after to-morrow, at eleven o’clock sharp, 
• for a« inspection ?’ 

Norrice acquiesced, then got out reluctantly: 

‘ If you are pleased with my invention, would you be dis- 
posed to purchase it ?’ 

‘ I never go out of my way to look at wares unless I want 
to buy,’ was the curt reply, Mr. Smith unaware that he was- 
thus obeying an injunction of the Talmud. 

Norrice jotted down the appointment in her pocket-book 
delightedly, not remarking the fact that the date fixed 
coincided with that of the election. 


23 — 2 


3S<^ 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

AN ENGLISH GALA, 

It is wonderful how English folk contrive to make inerry 
after their own fashion ! We inhabitants of Tartarean dark- 
ness, phlegmatic, befogged, taciturn insulars — so at least 
foreigners depict us — are in reality as disposed for anything 
in the shape of a revel or raree-show as the lightest-hearted 
Southerner going. 

If this statement appears in the least degree exaggerated, 
let the incredulous witness an election in the nearest county 
town. 

Strawton was by no means behind its neighbours in this 
respect. Only give the good folks a chance, and they would 
rollick as heartily as any. Perhaps in more favoured spots 
people are sedater ; but Strawton was ugly — life had to be 
endured J;here — so every possible occasion was seized upon 
for making holiday. 

A stranger entering the town in ignorance of what was 
taking place must have supposed that some royal or civic 
ceremonial of extraordinary brilliance was about to be cele- 
brated. The sober, shabby town was changed as if by 
magic to an airy coquette. It was the old story of Cinder- 
ella of the dustbin transformed into the ballroom queen. 

From end to end of the dull, monotonous streets now 
fluttered streamers and bannerets of deep blue and orange 
— colours that no more harmonized than did the political 


AN ENGLISH GALA, 


357 


parties of which they were the emblems, yet formed as 
agreeable a contrast to the eye as a field of cornflowers and 
marigolds. Cornflowers and marigolds, marigolds and corn- 
flowers. Strawton seemed a sea of them to-day — bricks and 
mortar for the time being obscured. 

These waves of colour formed a uniform surface when 
beheld from a distance, broke up into grotesque and 
amusing items on nearer survey. Not only were public 
buildings, factories, shops and private dwellings beflagged, 
but every living thing, from the Mayor and Corporation to 
the costermonger’s donkey, wore decorations in honour of 
the event. The very dogs and cats were evidently supposed 
to share their owners’ interest in the contest, one and all 
wearing coloured streamers; whilst the horses sagaciously 
shook their manes as if they too knew what blue and yellow 
rosettes meant. 

The butchers had decorated the trim carcases and prime 
joints in their windows also. Was it to signify (truly enough) 
that there may be a measure of Liberalism or Conservatism 
in eating ? — French cookery and innovation going with the 
former, old English roast beef certainly more in keeping 
with the latter. 

But nothing more clearly betokened the interest felt in 
politics by Strawton folk than the favours worn by children 
and babies in arms. If infants cannot suck in correct 
political notions with mothers’ milk, at least they should 
learn to know the right colour and abhor the wrong. Even 
the little workhouse lads, who were marched through the 
streets to see the decorations and the bustle, had contrived 
to get a farthing’s worth of blue and yellow ribbon for their 
button-holes, symbol of their privilege as voters to come. 
As to the feminine portion of the community, one and all 


358 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


made the occasion one of coquetry. For weeks beforehand 
mantua-makers and milliners had been busy with dresses, 
mantles, and bonnets of the respective colours. Certainly 
marigolds did not suit every complexion, nor cornflowers 
either ; but these difficulties were surmounted by means of 
a little toning down. And new clothes are always in a 
sense becoming. 

So much for the festive appearance of the town, which 
certainly did credit to a place so resourceless from a pic- 
turesque and artistic point of view. Another change was 
more striking still. A spirit of waggishness possessed alike 
young and old, rich and poor, the wise and the simple. Jokes 
that would have been resented as unseemly in the extreme 
at other times were to-day not only permitted but relished. 
For once the ,dire problem of the struggle for existence 
seemed forgotten. People neglected their business for the 
pleasure of making themselves hoarse on the right side. 

Of pageant there was little or none, but popular enthu- 
siasm and the readiness to be amused made up for all defi. 
ciencies. A rider dressed from top to toe in blue and 
orange, his horse as gaily dressed as himself ; a break-and- 
four full of merry voters carrying banners, and horses, 
carriage and fares all gaudy as Merry Andrews ; ladies in 
elegant landaus flaunting the colours of fathers or husbands ; 
here and there something in the shape of a joke, a fat 
grunter let loose from its sty in order to stop traffic and' 
create a momentary diversion; a chimney-sweep arm-in-arm 
with a man-cook, black and white contrasting no less strongly 
than their colours ; a miller’s cart, each sack of flour having 
a portrait of some local favourite — or the reverse— outlined 
in blue or yellow chalk ; comic songs and improvised satire 
— these formed the lighter amusements of the day. 


AN EN'^LISH GALA. 


359 


Meantime the cheering of street-boys, and, indeed, of the 
male population generally, began betimes, and so heartily 
that it seemed problematic if a single voice would have 
strength in it left for cheering at nighf. 

A splendid time; in the words of the youngsters, ‘A 
scrumptious time !’ Would that an election happened at 
least once a week ! 

The ladies Lowfunds of course showed themselves in what 
really did duty for a tourney. As yet Grade’s engagement 
to Mr. Morrow was not made public, so that the Liberal 
colours worn by the retired manufacturer and Grade’s deep 
blue, as became blue-blood, did not create a scandal. Be- 
sides, as Lady Letitia said, anything short of dynamite and 
Nihilism is accepted nowadays. Radical notions are, alas ! 
quite the fashion. 

But two familiar figures who should undoubtedly have 
graced the occasion were absent. 

The pretty heiress of Strawton Park did not appear, and 
Villedieu’s handsome wife kept in the background. Rapha’s 
non-appearance all could understand. Rumours were afloat 
that Mr. Rapham could no longer be counted among the 
living. But why Norrice should not be driving about tricked 
out in marigold colours was a mystery. 

‘ He’s ashamed of having married a teacher ! What else 
could be expected of an aristocrat turned Radical ?’ cried 
one bystander wearing a blue rosette. 

* Who can tell if he has married her properly, after all ?’ 
said a second opponent. ‘ They never went to church that 
I heard of.’ 

Norrice herself had begged that it should be so. To act 
the part of pictorial advertisement of her husband’s can- 
didature was not to her taste. She would much rather, 


360 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


she said, spend the day quietly with her mother, and 
perhaps see something of the proceedings from a neigh- 
bour's window. 

Villedieu consented to this arrangement with a bad gracej 
and could not keep back a bitter epigram. 

‘ I know quite well what is in your mind,’ he said. ‘ Had 
women governed from the beginning, not a state in Europe 
would have been burdened with a National Debt.’ He 
added scornfully ; ‘ But to count the cost of a yard of ribbon 
when your pound of flesh is mortgaged to the Jews, seems 
to me Quixotic cheeseparing. Have your way.. You shall 
wear a gown of embossed marigold velvet costing twenty 
guineas a yard when we are rich — that is to say, when all 
outstanding debts of valuable public servants are cancelled 
by Act of Parliament.’ 

Norrice let him scoff. Perhaps, after all, she said to her- 
self, it was as well that he could confront embarrassments 
with a light heart. No good could come of gloomy retro- 
spection or dark foreboding. His philosophy, at least, 
enabled him to throw heart and soul into the work he had 
to do, whilst, for herself, it was only by an effort that she 
could attain to self-centredness and abstraction. 

But her task was so far accomplished. Her ironing- 
machine had been pronounced flawless by a professional 
expert. Its marketable value had been appraised at a high 
figure. If a second time, indeed. Fortune would not woo 
her in a shower of gold, at least she might fairly hope to 
clear off her husband’s debts. 

‘ Only to do that 1’ sighed poor Norrice ; ‘ only to embark 
him in a career of public usefulness, freed from the stigma 
of indebtedness !’ 

Come days of loneliness and even cold mistrust ; come 


AN ENGLISH GALA. 


36 


yearning years of unsatisfied aspiration and hopes nipped in 
the bud ; come estrangement, deepening as life’s clouds and 
sunshine waned — all this she could look forward to calmly, 
and even find such an existence enviable, were her husband’s 
future wiped clean of stain. 

So whilst the street boys were making themselves hoarse 
in the cause of yellow and blue — whilst drums were beating, 
bands playing, vehicles flying to and fro, and excited voters 
riding hither and thither wildly as John Gilpin ; whilst ‘God 
save the Queen,^ the ‘ Old Hundredth,^ ‘He’s a jolly good 
fellow,’ and other popular airs, were making a Babel of these 
usually quiet streets — Norrice and her capitalist were 
closeted in close confabulation. 

Mr. Joshua Smith was not the kind of man to do any- 
thing in a hurry. Having scrutinized the apparatus with 
the greatest care, minutely entering into every detail, he 
must next see the instrument at work, and see it at work 
over and over again. 

On the principle of beginning at the beginning, Norrice 
first experimented on a dozen pocket-handkerchiefs, which 
were turned out with the greatest possible expedition — in 
less time, indeed, than a laundry-maid could have mani- 
pulated one. She read justed her hot plates, and next a 
man’s collar was smoothed, glazed, and stiffened — a second, 
a third, with marvellous rapidity. 

Then the triumphant inventress proceeded to more ela- 
borate tests still, the article operated upon being a lady’s 
slip, flounced and embroidered. 

No hitch occurred ; the slip was ironed to perfection 
before a skilled workwoman could have got it well in 
hand. 

All this time the wearer of the swallow-tailed coat had 


362 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 

watched the proceedings without the betrayal of any feeling 
whatever. 

Norrice had glanced at the face of her Sphinx, unable to 
discern therein either approval or disappointment. 

At last, however, Mr. Joshua Smith expressed his senti- 
ments more eloquently than words could have done. 

He drew forth his cheque-book. 

Now, if there is an ecstatic moment in life when the cup 
of satisfaction is full to overflowing, and a light heart maketh 
a merry countenance, it is this —to sit opposite a purchaser 
who fumbles the blank leaves of his cheque-book whilst 
gazing at you. Room for another wish is not left. 

Mr. Joshua Smith looked at Norrice; and, as if to let 
the sweet intoxication take possession of her, waited a 
minute or two before speaking. 

‘Now, Mrs. Villedieu,’ he said, ‘what I buy, I pay for, 
as Strawton folk know right well. But cash is cash, and 
times are hard. All I can do for you is this, and you may 
go farther and fare worse. I’ll pay you five hundred 
pounds down, and make you co partner in the working of 
your invention.* 

Norrice consented without a moment’s hesitation. She 
knew well enough that she had a plain, fair-dealing trades- 
man to deal with here — no money-grubber or extortioner. 
Five hundred pounds constituted no fortune, certainly, but 
was a godsend under present circumstances ; and a greater 
boon still would be the future income to be derived from 
her invention. 

Already she saw the most painful harass and lasting care 
of daily life removed, and a guarantee of fireside peace ; if 
not the most perfect kind, at least such as she had craved 
for as some celestial blessing. 


AN ENGLISH GALA, 


363 


A few minutes later, and the brief transaction was over. 
Norrice’s patent was transferred to the firm of Messrs. Smith, 
Smith, and Co., for the sum of five hundred pounds caution 
money, the inventress herself being made a sharer of all 
future profits. A legal form of transfer would be ready at 
the office for signature next day. 

Meantime, Mr. Joshua Smith carried off the blue-book, 
and left Norrice her five hundred pounds. The poor girl 
was overcome with joy — perhaps she had never felt such a 
sense of relief in her life ; and burdens heavy as Christian’s 
had slipped from her shoulders many times. 

* Mother — mother ! come, share my good news f she cried 
from the stair-head. 

But no Mrs. Bee made her appearance, she having popped 
on bonnet and shawl to see what was going on. 

Norrice returned to her workshop, hardly knowing how 
to contain herself. With trembling fingers she folded the 
cheque and placed it in her little purse, joy-gift to her 
husband on this day, as she hoped, of his crowning success ; 
then she began to put away her appliances. 

She was thus engaged, moving about rapidly in the over- 
crowded little room, her heart beating fast, her cheeks 
flushed, her limbs trembling, when she heard the canter of 
a horseman in the street below. It was her husband come 
to tell her how matters were going. 

As she was about to extricate herself from her disarranged 
machinery and make for the door, a sharp cry escaped 
her lips, and she sank to the ground, half-swooning with 
pain. 

In her excitement, she had forgotten that the plates last 
used for her experiment were still burning hot. Between 
these her poor trembling hand had been now caught — for 


3^4 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


a moment only, yet long enough to occasion fearful torture 
and injury. 

There she lay, life suddenly changed from wildest exulta- 
tion to intense physical suffering, with no one by to alleviate 
it. Everyone in the house, even Mrs. Bee, was abroad 
electioneering. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

ANNEALED ! 

In striking contrast with the tumult reigning at Strawton 
was the hush at the trader’s mansion. A silence awesome 
and eerie as of death pervaded every part. From time to 
time, indeed, rumour got afloat that Mr. Rapham was dead, 
and that Villedieu’s victory, if victory it proved, could now 
affront no personal enemy. Then, again, the story ran that 
Mr. Rapham still lived the life in death of hopeless un- 
reason. Death comes not always at a rash mortal’s bidding ; 
his sable vesture skirts may be clutched at, his icy breath 
felt, yet will the dread deliverer ofttimes elude our grasp. 
Mr. Rapham had rushed wildly into the storm, fleeing from 
his child, who was his conscience, seeking the only refuge 
that remained to him now — annihilation. But the multi- 
form perils of that fearful night passed him by ; the dangers 
he courted hearkened not to his prayer. When, at last. 


ANNEALED I 


365 


merciful oblivion came, it was that of temporary uncon- 
sciousness, not death itself. 

Soon after Rapha’s return, he had been brought home 
by one of the search-parties from Strawton Park, a ghastly 
figure enough. He was found lying by the uprooted tree 
that had struck him in its fall, alive certainly, but that was 
all. Whether he would recover from that death-like stupor 
seemed problematic. 

At first it was thought best for Rapha not to see her 
father. Should consciousness return, the sight of her might 
agitate him too much ; he ought to be gently prepared for 
it. Moreover, urged the physicians — despatched, as well as 
nurses, by the great contracting house — granting such a 
contingency did occur, no one could predict the patient’s 
mental condition. Ultimate recovery Rapha was bidden 
not too strongly to hope for. 

Her aspirations and prayers hit a higher mark. What is 
life bereft of soul ? What is health of body without peace 
within ? What is this mortal lot without love ? 

She was moved by one passion, one longing, one prayer 
only. Oh for a return of consciousness before death or 
mental darkness came ! Oh for one little lucid interval in 
which to make her father understand her daughterly affec- 
tion, and sorrow, and pity ! Was it too much to pray for ? 
Are prayers heard ? Has any human being a right to expect 
heavenly interposition in personal ’ affairs ? Such doubts 
disturbed her from time to time, her mind alternating from 
humility and clinging faith to almost resentful sorrow and 
deep dejection. Her father’s lot had been so lonely, so 
loveless ; and whatever might have stained his career, she 
was his child, he was her father ; she was bound to love him 
and stand by him in spite of secret disapproval. More- 


366 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


over, it seemed to her fond, simple nature that their kiss of 
peace now, their reconcilement at the last, would be a bene- 
diction for him to carry to the grave, the chrism wiping 
away any brand of shame on his brow. 

* I was wrong, I see it now,’ she said to. her husband. * I 
ought to have borne with my father, and not to have showed 
such abhorrence of what, perhaps, in his eyes, was no wicked- 
ness at all. He loved me as only widowed fathers can love 
their daughters. Your love, dear Gerald, is quite a different 
thing. If ever you have a daughter, and I die first of us 
two, you will understand how men so situated cling to their 
daughters, and almost worship them whether they are worthy 
of it «r no. He made his large fortune for me. He did 
not care to spend money on himself. I ought to have 
thought of that.’ 

She broke off, and, wiping her blue eyes, appealed to her 
husband pitifully. 

‘ God is good. You believe, as I do, that there is a life 
beyond the grave. But the old familiar ties with those we 
love are broken for ever here. We can never see our darlings 
again as they were — be to them what we have been — on this 
earth, in our homes. To believe otherwise would be blas- 
phemy. And so, death must always be very sad, in one 
sense — the sense, as human beings, we can best under- 
stand ; perhaps the only one we can understand — a final, 
cruel parting. The little kindnesses left undone, the duties 
unfulfilled, can never be made right when once the grave 
has separated those dear to each other. If all had been 
peace and understanding between my father and myself I 
could better bear to lose him now. But to have parted in 
anger, and never be able to make it right, would break my 
heart’ 


ANNEALED f 


367 


What had tenderest affection to offer but commonplace 
comfort and threadbare consolation? Silverthorn’s sturdy 
nature was not, perhaps, able to allow for morbid self-re- 
proaches, as he called these; but he humoured her now. 
Mr. Rapham might not only recover his reason, but his 
health partially, he urged. She must not yet despair. 

And, after all, it is impossible to keep back our opinions 
as to right and wrong, even from those dearest to us. He 
did not see that she had any cause for self-recrimination. 
She was certainly bound to be dutiful and affectionate to 
her father, but not to uphold his theories or his conduct 
when conscience said ‘ No.* 

At last this terrible tension came to an end. The physician 
announced that Mr. Rapham had recovered consciousness, 
and asked for his daughter. 

Rapha uttered a cry of wild joy, and was about to follow 
him at once, when he stood still, eyeing Silverthorn signifi- 
cantly. 

‘ Would it not be as well for Mrs. Silverthorn to take off 
her wedding-ring ?’ he asked. ‘ It is difficult, as yet, to say 
how far the patient is himself ; but one thing is certain, he 
does not seem aware of his daughter’s marriage.* 

Rapha stood irresolute. Silverthorn quickly decided her. 

‘ Is there any magic in a hoop of gold ?’ he asked, taking 
off the ring, and slipping it on one of his own fingers. 
* Were it thrown into the sea we should be married none 
the less.* 

‘ But to deceive him at such a moment !’ Rapha cried. 

‘ Maybe the last proof of affection you can show your 
father,* was the reply. ‘ Go, love ; never hesitate. Forget 
me ; be only the daughter for a little while.’ 

Some sick-rooms affect the mind solemnly as the sight 


368 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 

of dusky church aisles, lighted by mild radiance, when 
strains of low-chanted psalmody fill the air, and worshippers 
are on their knees. The blessedness of death is felt here, 
as the peaceful setting of the sun after a good day. Sadness 
reigns, but it is the sadness inseparable from mortality 
only. 

Very different was the atmosphere of Mr. Rapham’s bed- 
chamber. We influence our surroundings unawares, and, 
as wrote the great Jean Paul, nowhere the saintly wears a 
more heavenly look than on his sick-bed — nowhere doth the 
worldly one look harder. 

As Rapha entered she was torn by the old, painful con- 
flict. Whilst yearning more passionately than ever to love 
her father, and make her love apparent, the old shrinking 
and dread still made themselves felt. 

Mr. Rapham’s countenance had regained something of its 
old restlessness and vivacity. The pallor of his complexion 
and the bandage across his forehead did not in the least 
degree make him unrecognisable. He was outwardly him- 
self, all the defects visible in health exaggerated by disease 
and injury. His eyes had a more searching expression than 
ever ; his features were more sharpened ; the want of feel- 
ing, expression, humanity, in the whole physiognomy was 
doubly, trebly apparent. 

‘Dear, dearest papal’ Rapha murmured, sitting down on 
the bed, and gently kissing his cheek. 

He did not testify any agitation, rather a quiet, satisfied 
feeling, much as if she had been summoned from a tea- 
party at Lady Letitia’s — not at all as if they had been 
alienated for months. The direst chimeras of a distorted 
fancy were no longer disturbing him. The dark cloud that 
had obscured his mind of late was partially lifted. 


ANNEALED ! 


369 


He caught her left hand, felt it, held it up to the light. 

‘ All lies,’ he said ; ‘ they told me you were married to that 
fellow Silverthorn. Is there anyone else in the room?’ he 
asked. * Send ’em out. I want to talk to you.’ 

The doctor and nurse in attendance obeyed the behest, 
and the pair were alone. 

Still fondling her left hand, ‘ Is everybody gone ?’ he 
asked. 

‘ Yes, dear papa,’ she replied cheerfully, collected by a 
tremendous effort. 

He learned forward, and, to make assurance doubly sure, 
glanced round. 

‘ Don’t tell anybody,’ he went on. ‘ That villain, Ville- 
dieu, has done for me. I should be well enough now but 
for that villain’s blow. Well, he can’t do me any more 
harm now.’ 

‘ Try to get better for love of me,’ she whispered. 

He shook his head. 

‘ It is hard to leave you. But don’t you fret ’ 

Here his voice had all the old insinuating cunning. 

* Don’t you fret about what will become of me when I am 
gone. Don’t you believe all the parsons tell you. You can 
build a church if you like to do it cheap, by contract; it 
will do me no harm, and no more good, either, than if I 
were just a rotten potato. I don’t say the world made itself. 

I don’t say there isn’t an Almighty. What I say is, let those 
contradict who will, when we die, we die, and there is an 
end of us. So don’t you fret, my dear, about what will 
become of me— of my soul, as they call it.’ 

Rapha bent down and kissed the shrunken cheek, with a 
feeling akin to despair. How could she bring a ray of light 
within reach of this dark, cloud-encumbered tpind? How 

?4 


370 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


communicate to him some touch of humility, and reverence 
of the Unseen Power? 

‘What joy if we could only meet and love each other 
there !’ she murmured, pointing upwards — ‘ yourself, my 
mother, and 1/ 

He smiled fondly and impatiently. 

‘ Sit there, where I can see you,' he said. * I wish your 
poor mother had lived to see you, too. They told me you 
were ashamed of me, and were married. I never believed 
them. I’ve been a good father to you.’ 

‘ If you could only get better !’ Rapha said, suppressing 
her tears. 

Again he showed fond impatience. 

‘ No use to cry over spilt milk,’ he said. * I’ve lived long 
enough to make a nice lot of money, and it’s tied down to 
you pretty tight. Your husband, no matter who he be, can’t 
make ducks and drakes of it. You will see. Mind and be 
presented at Court, as I wished. The pearl and ruby 
ornaments were bought on purpose. You know. Lady 
Letitia will be a good friend to you. I’ve left her some- 
thing — nobody does anything for nothing in this world. 
She’ll find you a fine gentleman for a husband ’ 

He lay back, smiling, rather chuckling to himself. 

‘ I never told you, I quite intended to be presented at a 
levee myself. Shouldn’t I have made an odd figure in gold- 
laced coat, tights, and silk stockings ! I thought how it 
would amuse you to see me.’ 

Then the chuckle died away, and he looked at her 
searchingly, with almost as much yearning passion in 
his face and voice as in her own. He was evidently 
trying to reach her inmost soul, just as she was trying 
to reach his, to get at a secret thought, and elicit some 


ANNEALED! 


yji 


fond expression of it for his comfort whilst there was yet 
time. 

‘ You weren^t ashamed of me, were you ?’ he asked with 
tenderest insinuation — the humility and self-abnegation of 
the appeal having something almost sublime in it. ‘I’ve 
been a good father to you, Rapha.’ 

She could only answer him by tears and kisses. He 
seemed half convinced, yet went on pleading in self-advocacy, 
his voice dropped to a whisper. 

‘ Don’t let them poison your mind against me when I am 
laid under the turf. If I had not bought and sold the black 
folks, others would have done it ; and they are not fit for 
anything else. I was no worse than scores. Don’t let that 
trouble you when I am gone.’ 

* What right have I to judge you, my own dear, kind 
father? These things rest with God,’ Rapha answered 
passionately ; affection and conscience pulled different ways. 
She dared not utter what was uppermost in her mind, yet 
what joy if he could be brought to see his conduct in its 
true light at last ! One prayer, and one only, was in her 
heart and on her trembling lips. Oh, to see him meet his 
end in God-fearing and awe ; to know that his spirit took 
flight with the chrism of peace and penitence upon his 
brow ! 

‘ My own father, so kind to me always !’ she added 
brokenly. 

He seemed greatly touched by this expression of love ; 
his lips quivered, and a faint glow rose to his cheeks — was 
it of pride or shame? He lifted her little hand to his cheek, 
and replied half crying : ‘ I wish now I had been more of a 
gentleman, a different kind of man, for your sake, my 
darling.’ 


24—2 


372 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


Then he fell back exhausted. Rapha in alarm touched 
the bell ; a physician and nurse entered, and ministered a 
restorative. All saw that the end must be near. 

An hour or two passed thus, the patient lying in a kind of 
stupor. By-and-by, he opened his eyes. 

‘Rapha,’ he murmured impatiently, ‘I cannot see you. 
Ring for lights. Why do they let us be in the dark ? The 
candles are in the contract.’ 

It was in reality daylight, the clear limpid transparency 
of a February afternoon. The films of death were gathering 
over his eyes. 

‘ I have your hand ; I know you are there. I want to see 
you once more,’ he said plaintively. ‘ Make them bring 
lights, I say.’ 

But when, indeed, lights were brought to humour him, 
he paid no heed. Gradually his hand loosened its hold of 
Rapha’s ; he spoke no more— only once she caught the 
sound of her own name feebly whispered. And with that 
pure invocation on his lips, the worship of his child, which 
had been his only religion, his last earthly thought, .perhaps 
some prayer unheard of mortal ears to keep it company, the 
spirit of the liberticide passed away. 


A REVELATION 


m 


CHAPTER XVIII.' 

A REVELATION. 

Whilst Rapha watched by her dying father, a scene no 
less strikingly contrasted with the tumult without was pre- 
sented by Norrice’s quiet suburban room. Had she been 
laid to rest in Strawtpn Cemetery, she could hardly have 
been more oblivious of all that was going on throughout that 
tumultuous, as it seemed, interminable day. 

The ebb and flow of popular applause, uproarious as the 
tide of a tempestuous ocean ; the rattle of carriage-wheels ; 
the beating of drums ; the political choruses, caught up at 
intervals by the crowd ; the temporary lull towards evening ; 
the reawakened enthusiasm at midnight ; the climax when, 
general expectation being at fever-height, above a sea of up- 
turned faces a stream of electric light flashed these figures in 
the eyes of all : 

Villedieu - • • • 7,109 
Roberts - . . • 6,098 

the anti-climax that followed, the victorious candidate being 
drawn in triumph through the town — of all this Norrice 
knew nothing, as she lay under the influence of an anaes- 
thetic. 

She had no recollection of falling asleep. It was rather 
as if physical pain had been stopped by some magic finger, 
and a dark and dreamless abyss sucked her gently in. 
Once or twice during the night the spell would bp brokpq. 


374 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


She was conscious of her own moans under direst suffering ; 
she saw her mother moving about, and again and again 
thrice-blessed darkness and insensibility came to her relief. 

Next morning on awakening, by little and little she re- 
membered everything — the transaction, the accident, the 
contest. Intense pain she felt no longer ; but the heavy 
lassitude was of itself a suffering. Soporifics had done their 
work well. 

The night had been painless for the most part ; she was 
only paying the penalty of enforced unconsciousness. Her 
faculties were alert again ; but she could not use them in 
the ordinary way — leaden weights seemed to press down her 
eyelids, her lips moved without making an articulate sound. 
Mrs. Bee was at hand, and she heard her husband’s voice in 
the next room ; but she could not call his name. 

Mrs. Bee, \\ke many other garrulous and apparently 
volatile people, possessed a solid side to her character. 
Under complicated circumstances, she could show a pre- 
sence of mind and ready initiative that the more logical and 
consistent often lack. Her life had been one long-continued 
series of expedients and struggling against heavy odds. 
Thus it came about that nothing in the shape of unexpected 
calamity or dilemma put her out of countenance. 

When, therefore, she returned home after an hour or two 
of street bustle to find Norrice moaning with pain and her 
right hand fearfully injured, she at once took the necessary 
steps. The hand was promptly and cheerfully dressed, and 
Norrice put to bed ; then, locking the street-door behind 
her, Mrs. Bee fetched the first doctor in the place. 

‘ Don’t let Fred know yet’ 

Norrice had murmured her request again and again, and 
Mrs. Bee promised to obey. It was only reasonable to 


A REVELATION, 


375 


keep Villedieu in ignorance of this untoward occurrence in 
the midst of electioneering. 

There would be time enough to tell him all when the 
contest was decided one way or another. So when he 
called to say how matters were looking, Mrs. Bee, with a 
perfectly unmoved face and natural voice, begged him not 
to disturb Norrice. She was not very well, and wished to 
be alone for a time. 

‘ We had better leave her by herself,’ Mrs. Bee added, and 
Villedieu obeyed the injunction the more willingly that he 
had hardly a second at his disposal. 

Whilst, therefore, all Strawton was keeping holiday, and 
from one end of the town to the other rang never-tiring huzzas 
and hisses, Norrice lay inert and helpless in her mother’s 
suburban lodging. 

She could not think. Physical suffering prevented her 
from shaping a clear thought ; only one passionate impulse, 
one powerful instinct, made itself felt. 

Her husband must have no anxiety on her account 
as yet. 

About her own condition she showed, Mrs. Bee thought, 
strange passivity. Even pain seemed to trouble her more 
for her husband’s sake than for her own. 

‘ Don’t let Fred come to me till I am better,’ she said — 
‘ till to-morrow,’ she added. 

So when Villedieu rode up a second time, Mrs. Bee con 
trived to put him off with one plausible excuse after another 
Norrice could not be disturbed now ; she had fallen asleep 
she said, after much pain. She just hinted at a slight injury 
to her hand. One thing she promised him. Norrice should 
not learn the result of the poll, if favourable to himself, 
from any lips but his own ; but the declaration could net be 


376 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


made till after midnight. He would surely need a few 
hours’ rest. Much better to leave her in ignorance till the 
morning. 

He consented somewhat reluctantly. Time for persuasion 
and remonstrance there was none. It was as much as he 
could do to get back to his hotel in time for a change of 
clothes before the banquet. Yet the notion of not seeing 
Norrice till next day irritated him. He seemed to under- 
stand her less than ever. 

For the next few hours he had other matters to think of ; 
but after the tremendous excitement of the victory and the 
triumphal procession through the town, the bitter thought 
came to spoil all. His wife was not by to share his 
success. 

It was now three o’clock in the morning, and Mrs. Bee’s 
lodging was half a mile from his hotel. Tired as he was 
both in body and mind, he hesitated before going to bed. 
He felt as if he must go to Norrice with the good news. 
Might not such show of tenderness melt the iciness of the 
past month, and bring them nearer to each other? She 
could not surely hold aloof from him in his hour of 
triumph. 

True enough, he went to incur one disillusion more. His 
soft knock, several times repeated, brought no one to the 
door, no light to the window. All was dark, silent, inhospit- 
able, irresponsive. In a mood verging on vindictiveness, he 
returned to his hotel, and, without taking off his clothes, 
threw himself on the bed. His success affected him coldly. 
How differently should he feel were Norrice the wife of his 
dreams, marriage the ideal union of his aspirations ! 

He had gone out of the beaten groove in choosing a wife, 
but he owned it now. One of those faultlessly bred, slightly 


A REVELATION. 


Z17 


artificial drawing-room beauties he had stood in such terror 
of, could not have disappointed him more than the uncon- 
ventional woman of genius, married irrespective of social 
position. 

Where was the fault ? Where was the remedy ? Norrice 
was still the only woman, to use his own expression, who 
could interest him in anything and everything, the only 
woman really interesting to him. Her beauty, her wit, her 
intellectual resources, he admired more than ever. But, 
except by virtue of civil, contract, she hardly seemed to 
belong to him at all. They dwelt under the same roof, ate 
at the same board, and shared the same worldly fortune ; yet 
as day by day wore on, they grew in one sense, that the 
most important of all, more and more like strangers. The 
tender ness and sympathy even of close friendship, to say 
nothing of love, were wanting. She shrank from his tender- 
ness as if from slights that wounded, and appeared happier 
when he was cold, matter-of-fact, and quite unlover-like. 

With these chilling thoughts he fell asleep. 

When next morning Norrice heard her husband^s voice in 
the adjoining room, as her thoughts cleared, her mind flew 
back to the election. Had he come victor out of the field ? 
Would the accident damp his triumph, or add trial to trial ? 
Then, with a quick revulsion of feeling, she recollected her 
own success and the five-hundred-pound note in her purse, 
guarantee of more to come. Her husband’s fortunes 
mended, there would be no soreness left with regard to the 
invention sacrificed to Mr. Rapham. This transaction with 
Smith, Smith and Co. might prove a bond of union between 
them. And in these softened moments, when she was 
nerving herself up to congratulate Villedieu on his success 
or condole with him in his defeat, she no longer blamed 


378 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


him for his own reproaches. She alone had been at fault in 
withholding from him the particulars of her unwise bargain. 

As she lay thus, her mind becoming more and more alert 
to what was going on, she heard another man’s voice as well 
as Villedieu’s, evidently that of the physician. They were 
talking cautiously and in hushed tones, but she caught 
every word. 

* Must it be ? asked Villedieu, strangely agitated. ‘ No 
remedy but the loss of that skilful little hand ? The thought 
is too terrible !’ 

‘ I have merely stated my own opinion,’ was the reply. 

‘ It will be advisable to telegraph for my colleague ’ — he 
named a celebrated London specialist — adding, ‘ Only the 
consultation should be held at once.’ 

Villedieu moved about as if looking for paper and ink. 

‘ Will you write out the form for me ? My hands tremble,’ 
he said in the same agitated voice. 

‘ Readily ; I can drop the telegram at the office on my 
way back,’ replied the doctor kindly. ‘ You will like to re- 
main with your wife.’ 

She heard him make for the stair-head. Then Villedieu 
begged him to re-enter for a moment — one moment only, 
he murmured. He closed the door, but through the thin 
partition of wall Norrice’s over-alert ears again caught the 
passionately eager tones — so fraught, so laden with feeling 
and anguish, that it seemed as if not only her life but his 
own hung upon the response of the oracle. 

‘ Doctor !’ he cried ; ‘ for God’s sake, speak to me as man 
to man. There is no danger ?’ , 

‘Under prompt, skilful treatment, none whatever — at 
least as far as mortal judgment can predict,’ was the quick 
reply. 


A REVELATION. 


379 


‘She IS all I have to care for in the world,* groaned 
Villedieu. 

Then she heard the physician utter a cheery word, shake 
his hand, and take leave. Her husband remained behind ; 
the sound of his sobs reached her where she lay. He was 
weeping like a child. 

‘Fred,’ she now murmured softly, after letting him weep 
a little. For herself, she felt that her last tear was shed. 
Pain itself, of fiercest kind, was nothing to her now. The 
alternative just proposed had no terrors. She glowed with 
the conviction of her husband’s love; she had not under- 
stood him. He loved her still; he had loved her always. 
‘Fred,’ she repeated. He had not heard the first gentle 
summons. 

He calmed himself by an effort, and, coming to the bed- 
side, bent over her with a quiet kiss. 

‘ I heard what the doctor said to you just now. Have 
no fears. I have plenty of courage,’ she said, as she looked 
at him with an expression passionately tender as his own. 
‘Then you do love me?’ she murmured. ‘You did not 
marry me merely because you thought I had money, after 
all?* 


38 o 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS* 


CHAPTER XIX. 

FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 

What moments were thoirs now ! The darkest clouds had 
rolled away, and after thunder came clear sunshine. Pain- 
fullest misunderstanding gave place to closest sympathy and 
the clear reading of soul by soul. In the midst of her help- 
lessness and pain, Norrice could glow over her husband’s 
triumph. All her old witchery came back. 

‘We must expect the stroke of evil luck amid so much 
good fortune, for you do not yet know all. Pull my purse 
from under my pillow, dear ; you will find in it a cheque for 
five hundred pounds— mamma will tell you its history.’ 

She motioned him to bend his head close to her ear, and 
whispered : 

‘ Fifty pounds must go to her.’ 

She added aloud, joyous and full of hope : 

* And if I have to lose my hand, we will not break our 
hearts about it. I must set to work and invent a mechanical 
one, that is all.’ 

Villedieu, despite his anxieties, pocketed the five-hundred- 
pound note with his old rollicking coolness. 

‘ You are very considerate,’ he said, ‘ before half killing 
yourself, to provide the doctor’s fees. But,’ he added, grave 
and tender, ‘you heard what was said. Keep up your 
heart, and all will be well.’ 


FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 


‘Don^t you think Norrice had better be quiet a little 
while ?’ Mrs. Bee asked meekly, as she put her head in the 
doorway, and Villedieu as meekly obeyed. 

He was in the strangest mental condition ; grief and joy 
mastering him by turns. The alternative held out by the 
doctor was a terrible one. Yet what a life for him to look 
forward to — the Norrice of old by his side, sparkling, a 
dozen charming individualities in a day, and each his own ! 
And if it must be so, and she must forfeit that fair, incom- 
parably deft hand, it would be his task to make up for the 
loss. Such personal blemish, and daily, hourly privation 
would have been incurred for his sake. His lifelong devo- 
tion could but inadequately repay the sacrifice. 

Norrice’s first thoughts were of her husband’s success. 

‘You are really in earnest?’ she asked him, with a pene- 
trating, inquisitorial look. ‘ You mean to show the Strawlon 
folks that they have got a representative with an idea — we 
will modestly put it down as one, at first,’ she added. 

‘ We had better say half of one,’ was his laughing reply. 
Then suddenly he became more serious. ‘ However, it does 
not much matter how poorly I am punished in that respect. 
You have plenty ; and, thank heaven ! the laws about women 
are not so strict as yet but that a husband can borrow his 
wife’s ideas with impunity.’ 

‘ But,’ she asked, with a fond, pained, half-imploring air, 
not quite understanding whether he were in jest or earnest, 
‘you do care about these social questions you have taken 
up so zealously ?’ 

* One must care about something — why not for social 
questions ?’ he said. ‘ AndT never fear, you will prevent me 
from becoming a harlequin. I married you on purpose! 
What you married me for I cannot conceive. I suppose 


382 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 

because I put the proposition to you in an altogether original 
way ?’ 

‘ I suppose so/ Norrice replied. * I never wished to 
marry ; I felt married to my inventions. But one never 
can tell how one will behave when taken by surprise.* 

‘Out with my secret/ Villedieu added, now tender and 
lover-like. ‘ I found you irresistible at Mr. Rapham’s dinner- 
party, when you wore that wonderful red dress of yours. 
The first five hundred pounds we have to spare shall be 
spent upon your portrait in oils in that identical red silk 
gown.’ 

As soon as Norrice was well enough, Rapha went to see 
her. The young wife had almost the forlorn look of widow- 
hood in her crape-bordered dress. For a brief spell, indeed, 
sorrow, deep, passionate, overwhelming as that of a widow, 
had taken possession of her. Silverthorn’s cheery affection- 
ateness could not, as yet, penetrate the cloud. 

She fled to Norrice as to a sister, and the two friends 
for some time wept in each other’s arms without a word. 
Just as there are certain crises and moods a man can best 
talk over with his friend, so even happy, trusting wives will 
sometimes find a consolation in feminine friendship that love 
cannot afford. 

‘You must think kindly of my father now,’ Rapha said, 
when she had dried her tears; ‘and there is one act of 
justice Gerald and I intend to render to you. Your patent, 
and all the money that it has yet brought, will be handed 
over to you as soon as poor papa’s affairs are settled.’ Tears 
again rose to her eyes as she went on ; ‘ He has left me 
everything— everything. AVhat'am I to do with so much 
money ? Gerald does not care about money, either. It is 
very unfortunate for us that we are to be so rich. You will 


FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 383 

take back your patent, won’t you, dear ? Gerald says you 
must.’ 

Norrice kissed her friend’s hand, and replied, between 
laughing and crying : 

‘ It is very unfortunate for me that I am so rich, too. I 
don’t care for money either. But I have been all but 
broken-hearted for want of it. Heaven bless you, you 
generous darling !’ 

‘ Gerald says that you and Mr* Villedieu will want a great 
deal of money now,’ Rapha went on. * He says that to 
embark upon such causes as your husband has done, is to 
ruin yourself, even if you are a millionaire !’ 

‘ My mother’s mental faculties will rust — that is melancholy 
to think of!’ Norrice laughed. ‘To have to make up a 
dinner of nothing, pay your landlady with an empty purse, 
dress according to the fashion without spending a sixpence 
— there is matter for the exercise of ingenuity. But when 
her leg of mutton hangs in the larder, her money is ready 
for the rent, the clothes have only to be ordered — what will 
poor mamma do?’ 

‘You are happy to have your mother,’ poor Rapha 
sighed. 

‘ Forgive me for being so gay ; I do feel for you,’ Norrice 
. said, ashamed of her own high spirits. ‘I have had so 
much to make me happy lately ; and you have much left,* 
she said caressingly. ‘ Do not dwell upon your grief only.’ 

‘ Has Mr. Villedieu spoken to you of my father ?’ Rapha 
*asked, after a pause, and with some embarrassment. 

A question was on her lips she hardly knew how to frame. 
She hardly knew how to say : 

‘ Did your husband deal my father his death-blow ?’ 

Norrice showed some hesitation also. How could she 


3^4 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


tell Rapha that Mr. Rapham had been the offender — that 
but for him the unseemly encounter would never have 
occurred. Divining what was in her friend’s mind, feeling 
herself to be the braver of the two, she took the initiative, 
kindly and boldly. 

‘ Fred wished me to tell you that he is quite sure of one 
thing. Mr. Rapham was not at all himself when he attacked 
him on the road to Strawton ; and there was no injury on 
either side. Fred is quite sure you may make your mind easy 
so far. You see, dearest,’ she added, trying to lead Rapha 
from such painful surmises, ‘ so many other circumstances 
are sufficient to account for your father’s mental condition — 
the trying life in tropical climates, the excitement of coming 
home, the change of daily habits. Pray — ^pray do not think 
of all that has happened as preventible. We cannot prevent 
character; and what is life but an expression of character?’ 

Rapha said no more at the time. She was not consoled ; 
yet, perhaps, went away less sorrowful than she had come. 
After all, Norrice was right. We cannot prevent character. 
No happy concatenation of events would have made her 
father’s way of looking at things acceptable to her. They 
had been related by the closest human ties, but, alas 1 can 
any more tragic note be struck in the symphonies of Fate ? 
Only this tie of blood seemed there — father and daughter 
seemed to belong each to an alien race. Can any influences 
bring natures diametrically opposed together? Are their 
natural antipathies to be lived down ? 

Such was the problem that darkened her young life. 
The shadow of a tragedy would long fall across her sunny 
ways. 

Norrice’s next visitors were Grade and Mr. Morrow, who 
came to felicitate and be felicitated. 


FRIENDS IN COUNCIL, 


38s 


It cannot be said that Grade had ever fallen in love with 
the timid, ambitious manufacturer ; nor can it be affirmed 
that Mr. Morrow had fallen in love with his bride- 
elect, according to the accepted sense of the word. If, 
instead of personal attributes, belongings, surroundings are 
fallen in love with, may not the promise of wedlock be 
equally fair ? 

Mr. Morrow personified in Gracie’s eyes blessings she 
had longed for much more- ardently than love and 
romance — freedom, emancipation from routine and arti- 
ficiality; above all, a more individual existence. Once 
a wife, the sense of being a daughter— a woman too 
many — would not weigh upon her; and how many girls 
marry for no better reason? Mr. Morrow, for his part, 
had fallen in love with Gracie’s lineage, her good manners, 
the atmosphere of birth and breeding she carried with 
her wherever she went. And as affection based on such 
solid objects is more likely to endure than that called forth 
by mere outward attraction, surely these two had every 
chance of being happy. 

As to Mrs. Bee, she was the very last person in the 
world to lose her head at the prospect of worldly fortune. 

‘ I turn to my favourite author, Lucian, upon such 
occasions,’ she would say. ‘ No fear of not finding a moral 
with him. Now the question is, not how much money 
we possess, how many titles or estates, but how much 
we should fetch if, like the philosophers in Lucian’s witty 
piece, we were put up to auction ? Dear me, I fear 
many of us who think no end of ourselves would, like poor 
Diogenes, be hard to get rid of at threepence halfpenny ! 
^:ven Epicurus, it seems, fetched but eight pounds ; whilst 

25 


386 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


ten sages remained positively unsold for want of a bidder. 
I should be very unhappy if I thought no one would bid for 
me; but certainly the possession of money won’t add a 
ciiny to my worth. So I keep Lucian handy, and, in the 
midst of my splendour, try to be humble.* 


CONCLUSION. 

But Norrice was not to ^ose that deft right hand of hers ; 
remedies — slow, tedious, but, as it seemed, sure — were tried 
instead, and by little and little the injured limb recovered. 
As she lay in bed, full of hope and joy, despite physical 
suffering, she said to herself, * If the maiming of a limb 
is such a privation to human beings provided with doctors, 
nurses, and every alleviation, what must be the loss of % 
wing, a leg, or an eye to animals ? How can men endowed 
with conscience wilfully, and in quest of pleasure, mutilate 
innocent creatures for whom the world was created as mucb 
as for ourselves ?’ 

Such thoughts may well make us blush ; how much more 
so that of deliberately tormenting animals in the so called 
interests of science ! This might well make one doubt 
the moral progress of the world, were it not that in our own 
time it was held lawful to traffic in flesh and blood. Going 
back a century or two, we find that instructed men and 
women deemed it righteous to torture their fellows for a 


CONCLUSION. 


387 


mere difference of opinion ; and looking back still farther, 
do we not see Roman matrons — vaunted for their virtues 
and patriotism — amusing themselves by running pins into 
their slaves ? That man or that woman who would purchase 
immunity from suffering at the expense of an innocent and 
helpless animal must be a coward indeed ! 

Rapha, when they next met, thrust into her friend’s hand 
the Blue-book that more than anything else had seemed 
to divide her from her father. ' ‘ Do not think ill of him,’ 
Rapha murmured, as she put Norrice’s specification in her 
hand. ‘ I think I shall feel almost happy now, and you will 
do so much good with your money. You ought to be 
rich.’ 

Norrice smiled, unable to thank her, except by a warm 
hand-clasp. ‘ You and I shall never be rich, I fancy, how- 
ever much we may have.’ 

‘No, indeed,’ Rapha said, ‘and, Norrice,’ here she again 
looked apologetic, ‘I shall always think of my father as 
kindness itself to me ; but I want to undo some of the evil 
he did, and my husband is quite willing to let me have 
my way. If Mr. Villedieu gets up a memorial to do away 
with slavery in the Soudan — or anywhere — we will give him 
what money he wants. There will be enough and to spare 
for our simple housekeeping and Gerald’s scientific experi- 
ments. I shall be so much happier when papa’s great 
fortune has melted away.’ 

It seemed likely to melt away, what with munificent dona- 
tions to Villedieu’s anti-slavery league, Silverthorn’s ventures 
in scientific discovery, and other noble, or at least praise- 
worthy, ends. And the simpler their mode of life, the 
smaller their income, the more cheerful grew Rapha. 

25—2 


388 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 


Mr. Rapham had not carried out his threat of leaving hei 
his fortune in trust for her children. It was hers to do with 
as she would, and this freedom softened her recollections of 
him, and gradually threw a pathetic halo round the 
past. 

If Rapha and Silverthorn found abundant uses for their 
money, how unlikely were Norrice and Villedieu to become 
miserly ! Villedieu relished, above all things, an unfettered, 
unconventional life. His notion of enjoyment was a 
bachelor’s lodging, embellished with the presence of a wife. 
Nor had Norrice leisure or inclination for the exigencies of 
fashionable life. The bachelor’s lodging was, however, 
hardly practicable ; she must have a workshop, so they 
found one of those roomy, old-fashioned houses standing in 
a garden, of which, perhaps, a score or hvo yet remain in 
London proper, and here she worked as ardently as in 
her Strawton attic. Nor was he less zealous, only in 
different lines. His new career called forth all his energies ; 
backed up by his wife, he promised to take a leading part. 
That very year, Norrice was able to enjoy the first real 
holiday of her life ! When autumn came, and both were 
free for awhile, Villedieu carried her off to the South of 
France, not travelling, however, in the prosaic orthodox way. 
Having reached Grenoble, they started for Cannes in a huge 
berline, or family coach, with four horses, after the good old 
fashion, making short stages, and sleeping at rustic hostelries 
on the way. That astounding bit of road between Grenoble 
and Gap seemed to Norrice’s eyes as sublime as scenery 
could well be ; but grand and beautiful as are the x^lps of 
the Dauphinois, perhaps sublimer still are the scenes that 
await the traveller farther on. So from Gap to Sisteron, and 


CONCLUSION, 


389 


Sisteron to Cannes, they travelled leisurely, finally landed in 
the House Beautiful of the world, if any exist — the blue* 
skied, azure-sea’d, flowery Riviera. There Norrice had her 
fill of one kind of beauty, the journey to Florence, later on, 
giving her ample store of another. 

‘But we must not stay here too long,’ she said to her 
husband. * I feel in the land of lotus-eaters. We shall 
forget all the duties that await us at home.’ 

Lady Letitia having once crossed the barrier dividing the 
family escutcheon from the manufacturer’s signboard, and 
finding existence bearable in the new atmosphere, neither 
choke-damp nor fatal rarefaction, did not stop there. One by 
one Gracie’s younger sisters were encouraged to follow her 
example, the condition of a retired manufacturer’s wife 
being, as Lady Letitia said, so very comfortable. She had 
no idea such people could be so comfortable. She should 
have preferred curates, for the look of the thing, but how 
could a daughter of hers marry a man as poor as herself? 
The teachings of Robespierre and the consequences of the 
Revolution must be accepted. 

Mrs. Bee’s imagination continued as active as ever, 
although she was no longer under the necessity of conjuring 
up visions of roast venison when sitting down to the 
Barmecide’s feast. She still delighted to make excursions 
into the byways of literature, and lighted upon many a parable 
as edifying as that of Charon and Menippus. ‘ But I don’t 
know how it is,’ she would say ^ ‘I often think I shall never 
be so happy again as when I had my dear Norrice. to myself, 
and would dream for hours of the fame and fortune in store 
for her. Well, the dreams have come true — but what a 
difference between hoping and possessing! I felt young 


390 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 


then, and nothing in the shape of a difficulty could daunt 
me. Now the sight of a wheelbarrow overturned upsets my 
nerves. Yes, we should all be poor creatures if we had 
things our own way to begin with,' 


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grand eloquence, which renders the treatment of an apparently dry subject 
deeply interesting reading.”— Chicago. 


GRACE GREENWOOD’S STORIES. 

New edition. The volumes are finely printed on heavy paper, 
illustrated, handsomely bound in cloth, with ink and gold stamping. 
Volumes sold separately. $1.00. 

I. Stories for Home Folks ; Stories and Sights of France and 
Italy. II. Stories from Famous Ballads ; History of My Pets ; 
Recollections of My Childhood. III. Stories of Many Lands ; 
Stories and Legends of Travel and History. IV. Merrie England ; 
Bonnie Scotland. 

The following favorite volumes are published in cheaper form : 
My Pets, cloth, 60 cts. ; Stories for Home Folks, cloth, 75 cts. ; 
Stories of Travel and History, 60 cts. 

“ Most charming stories, some of them incidents in the lives of the great 
people of the earth, while others narrate events in the life of the author or her 
friends. Some places of interest are graphically described as by an eye-witness. 
The stories are equally interesting to old and young, and contain many useful 
bits of information that are thus easily acquired, and will remain with the reader 
for all time.” — Hawkeye, Burlington. la. 


HUGHES. THE MANLINESS OF CHRIST. 

By Thomas Hughes. Cloth. 40 cts. 

The manly author of ” Tom Brown at Rugby,” a favorite writer wherever the 
English language is read, here writes in a common-sense, forceful, and con- 
vincing way of the one ideal man — the lesson of his life for all who aspire to true 
manliness. 


ANDERSEN. 

Fairy Tales and Other Stories. By Hans Christian Andersen. 
In 4 vols., handsome cloth binding. $3.00, 


4S. Was Eveb Womak in this Humor Wooed. By Chas. Gibbon 30 

49. The Mynns Mystery. By George Manville Fenn 30 

50. Hedri. By Helen Mathers 30 

51. The Bondman. By Hall Caine 30 

52. A Girl op the People. By L. T. Meade 30 

53. Twenty Novelettes, by Twenty Prominent Novelists 30 

54. A Family Without a Name, By Jules Verne... 30 

55. A Sydney Sovereign. By Tasma 30 

56. A March in the Ranks. By Jessie Fothergill 30 

57. Our Erring Brother. By F. W. Robinson 30 

58. Misadventure, By W. E. Norris 30 

59. Plain Tales prom the Hills. By Rudyard Kipling 50 

GO. Dinna Forget. - By John Stranire Winter 30 

61. Cosette. By Katharine Macquoid 30 

62. Master op His Fate. By J. Maclaren Cobban 30 

63. A Very Strange Family. By F. W. Robinson 30 

64. The Kilburns. By Annie Thomas 30 

65. The Firm op Girdlestonb. By A. Conan Doyle. . . 50 

66. In Her Earliest Youth. By Tasma 50 

67. The Lady Egeria. By J. B. Harwood 50 

68. A True Friend. By Adeline Sargent 50 

69. The Little Chatelaine. By The Earl of Desart. . . 50 

70. Children op To-Morrow. By William Sharp 30 

71. The Haunted Fountain and Hetty’s Revenge. By Katharine S. ,> 

Macquoid 30 

72. A Daughter’s Sacripice. By F. C. Philips and Percy Fendall 50 

73. llAUNTiNGS. By Vernon Lee 50 

74. A Smuggler’s Secret. By Frank Barrett 50 

75. Kestell op Greystone. By Esme Stuart 50 

76. The Talking Image op Urur. By lYanz Hartmann, M.l) 50 

77. A Scarlet Sin. By Florence Marryat 50 

78. By Order op the Czar. By Joseph Hatton 50 

79. The Sin op Joost Avelingh. By Maarten Maartens 50 

80. A Born Coquette. By The Duchess 50 

81. The Burnt Million. By James Payn 50 

82. A Woman’s Heart. By Mrs. Alexander 50 

83. Syrlin. By Ouida 50 

84. The Rival Princes. By Justin McCarthy and Mrs. C. ITae.d 50 

85. Blindfold. By P’lorence Marryatt 50 

86. The Parting op the Ways. By Betham Edwards 50 

87. The Failure op Elizabeth. By E. Frances Poynter 50 

88. Eli’s Children. By George Manville Fenn 50 

89. The Bishop’s Bible. Bv David Christie Murray and Henry Hermann.. 50 

90. April’s Lady. By The Duchess 50 

91. Violet Vyvian, M. F. II. By May Crommelin 50 

92. A Woman op the World. By F. Mabel Robinson 50 

93. The Dappled Conspirators. ByW.E. Norris 50 

94. Strange Crimes. By William Westall 50 

95. Dishonoured. By Theo. Gift 50 

96. The Mystery OP M. Felix. By B. L. Farjeon 50 

97. With Essex in Ireland. By lion. Emily Lawless 50 

98. Soldiers Three, and Other Stories. By Rudyard Kipling 50 

99. Whose WAS the Hand. By M. E. Braddon 50 

100. The Blind Musician. By Stepniak and William Westall 50 

101. The House on THE Scar. By Bertha Thomas 50 

102. The Wages OP Sin. By Lucas Malet 50 

103. The Phantom Rickshaw. By Rudyard Kipling 50 

104. The Love OF A Lady. By Annie Thomas 50 

105. IIow Came He Dead? By J. Fitzgerald Moll -'y 50 

106. A Romance OP the Wire. By Mrs. Betham-Edwards 50 

107. A New Novel. By B. L. Farjeon 50 

108. Notes prom THE News. By James Payn 50 

109. The Keeper op the Keys. By F. W. Robinson 50 


Any of the above sent postpaid, on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

150 WORTH STREET, NEW YORK 



GOLD MEDAL PARIS 
















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